Under The Shade Of A Kurrajong Tree
by Seldarius
Summary: A horse murder was not quite the entertainment Jack and Phryne had been hoping for - but when the favourite to win the Hanging Rock race is brutally butchered, only the truth might keep an old feud from escalating. While the Detectives try to unravel a knot of secrets surrounding the old stones, Jack finds himself confronted with the most unsettling thing of all: a scared Phryne.
1. Prologue

**As you may have guessed, this is part 8 of the Phryniverse, which has been following our lovely couple for a year and a half through their adventurous relationship. (And they will make an appearance soon, I promise.) Enjoy. **

**Prologue: **

A moonless night, far in the past. Maybe, if it had been a different story there could have been a thunderstorm. Lightning ripping the sky apart. Heavy rain drumming on the hat of the darkly clad figure.

But since the universe tends to be not quite as fond of cliches as writers would like it to be, the only sound was a tiny baby screaming through the still night.

"Quiet," the man hissed.

The risk of being discovered was slim, nobody came this way in the dead of the night. Yet, the squealing unsettled him. As far as it was possible for him to be any more terrified than he already was.

The woman leaning pale against the trunk of an old tree with a tiny bundle wrapped in her arms, nodded and rocked the child as if she could protect it from a cruel world. She was trying her hardest not to look at the bloodied body lying at her feet. The cracked skull. The twisted limbs. The empty eyes staring into nothing.

The man returned to his work, lifting shovel after shovel of dry dirt. Sweat dripped into the shallow grave in what felt like hours. The child fell finally into an exhausted sleep in his mother's arms.

"What are we going to do?" her thin voice asked into the tense silence.

"Not a lot we can do," he answered, lifting the almost weightless remains of what once had been a woman into the hole. "We get on with it and all of this never happened."

She nodded again, holding the baby closer to her chest while her husband started to cover the body. The sickening sound of dirt falling on cooling flesh was for a long time the only thing they heard. She watched him work, his strong hands flexing around the shovel, a pattern appearing on his dirt covered features. It was impossible to tell if he was crying or there were just streaks of sweat painting their way through the grime. Did he feel remorse? Not that it mattered. He was right. What was done was done and now they would have to keep it quiet. Shuddering she glanced at the cluster of rocks towering above them, just barely visible against the dark sky, but ever the more threatening. The old stones were good at protecting secrets.


	2. Chapter 1: What Cannot Be Said

**Chapter 1: What Cannot Be Said**

It lies in the nature of a good butler to keep his head in every situation. Needless to say that Tobias Butler's abilities in that particular area had been challenged at times in the years working for Miss Fisher, but then he was a master of his chosen occupation.

When he opened the door on this warm January evening, however, there was a brief flicker in his iron-clad composure. It only lasted a split second.

"Good evening, Inspector."

Jack nodded, stepping through the opened door.

"Mr. Butler."

He let the servant take his coat while he wondered where the familiar melody was coming from. And more importantly, who was playing it?

"Would you like me to fetch some bandages, Sir?"

"That might be a good idea. I will head upstairs and have a wash."

There was a brief pause in the piano music as someone hit the wrong key. Gentle laughter sounded.

"Mrs. Walker is waiting in the parlour when you are ready, Sir" Mr. Butler added, but his explanation came too late. Jack had changed his intended direction and taken the few steps towards the door before the servant had finished his sentence or managed to warn him about his appearance.

A picture of utter harmony greeted the Inspector between the aquamarine coloured walls. His wife was laughingly refilling the glass of their guest while Iris stood behind Jane, chattering at her. His daughter sat at the piano, completely ignoring her while feverishly attempting to find the right keys. Jack halted in the door frame, committing this scene to memory.

A clash of keys marked the moment all three women looked up at him and halted in their activities. There was a pause - Jane was the first to find her voice.

"What on earth happened to you?"

Jack shrugged, absentmindedly wiping some blood from his chin.

"I had a slight disagreement with a drunkard regarding me taking him in," he explained.

"Did you convince him?" Iris asked, the hint of a smile around her lips. She had grown up with Jack and seen him fall off trees and get into fights with bigger boys more often than she cared to remember. He was a hardy plant. The Inspector attempted a grin which his sore face protested.

"He came around eventually."

"Jack?"

The laughter died in his throat when Phryne appeared in front of him, looking uncharacteristically worried. He flinched when her hand reached out to touch his bruised cheek.

"Very good aim, Miss Fisher," he quipped, gently peeling her fingers from his face. His grey eyes explained in all honesty that there was nothing to be concerned about. Hers replied that she didn't care for his opinion on the matter.

"Mr. Butler...!"

The servant appeared with a bowl and some other utensils before Mrs. Robinson had a chance to finish her request.

"Thank you," she said, finding her composure and escorting her husband to an armchair where she started to take care of his wounds without waiting for an invitation.

"Now, dear cousin, I hope you didn't get yourself beat up in the hope of getting out of our weekend trip," Iris quipped from where she was leaning against the piano, watching the scene with wide-awake eyes. Jack pulled a grimace.

"Don't worry yourself, Phryne won't give me a chance to avoid this particular piece of entertainment. In my estimation she purchased about twenty hats in preparation for the big day."

Some enthusiastically dabbed on iodine caused him to hiss as it burned in a small cut on his chin.

"I have done nothing of the kind," Phryne grinned grimly, "there are barely any more than three."

"Five actually," Jane called in from where she was still sitting at the piano, playing idly with the keys. "I've counted."

Her mother huffed at this, placing a piece of plaster underneath Jack's eye. She had to admit that his injuries had looked a lot worse than they were. After wiping away the blood there were only a handful of tiny cuts and a bruise on his left cheek. Most men could do worse to themselves using a razor after a night of heavy drinking. But there was something unsettled in her stomach that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"It's really impossible to let you out of my sight," she scolded, only half-joking. A moment later she felt her fingers being pried from the scissors she had been using. Jack's hand was warm, strong, reassuring. His eyes were glued to hers, wondering.

"I'm sure you're attendance would have scared Mr. Brenwitch sober," he grinned.

Phryne rolled her eyes at him, slamming the small box shut. They hadn't had a murder or even any interesting case in several weeks and the Lady-Detective had had decided that she didn't need to haunt City South for the occasional petty theft and drunk and disorderly. An obvious mistake.

"I'm serious, Jack, you should have taken some help," she continued. "Confronting a drunk man alone was just reckless."

"And that from you, Miss Fisher?" he smiled, accepting a drink from Mr. Butler who had entered the room like fog and disappeared just like it a moment later. "And Jones was there with me. But he is 20 years my junior and a lot faster when it comes to dodging pieces of furniture," he added between sips.

Phryne started as it occurred to her that she was being ridiculous.

"No, that's a G. This key here."

Both Detectives looked up to discover that Iris had joined Jane on the piano stool in an obvious attempt to give them some privacy. Jane rolled her eyes with a broad grin and tried again from the start. Her parents watched the two of them work for some time in silence.

"You know, teaching a policeman's daughter the song of a sheep thief may be considered slightly inappropriate," the Inspector grinned. Iris turned her head to look at him.

"It's a classic, Jack. And also," she added after a minor pause, mischief glittering in her dark blue eyes, "we might as well get into the mood of the bush, considering we are going to be surrounded by it tomorrow."

"We are heading for a horse race; that's hardly what I'd call rural life," Jack stated dryly.

"But said horse race is sat in bushland," Phryne grinned, bouncing back. "And a very mysterious piece of bushland at that."

A clashing of keys announced that Jane had given up on learning piano for the night and decided to rather focus on the conversation. Iris's fingers barely escaped the slammed down cover.

"Mysterious how?" Jane asked. So far she had considered the four days trip with rather mixed feelings.

"You mustn't listen to the ghost stories," Iris said, emptying her glass. "I've been there for my honeymoon, more than a decade ago now. We do grow old, don't we, Jack?" She grinned at the Inspector, who frowned. "It is a marvellous place. The views are astounding."

"But the locals do insist that the 'Hanging Rock' is haunted," Phryne added. "There are many legends attached to it."

"Which of course are utter hogwash," the Inspector stated dryly while the Whiskey burned down his throat. He could feel sleepiness crawl into his bones. And he still had to pack.

Jane couldn't help the little niggle at her mind and opened her mouth to voice a question that she instantly regretted.

"I believed you only married Rupert three years ago?"

Silence fell. Jack and Phryne traded a look at the rather uncomfortable turn in what had been a humorous conversation. Jane was just about to utter an apology when Iris answered with a strained smile: "I was talking about my_ first_ honeymoon. A long time ago."

"Oh," Jane made, seeking out Jack's eyes who slightly shook his head. It was an unnecessary measure. His foster daughter was certainly clever enough to not dig any further.

"Now," Iris said, regaining her composure and getting to her feet, "I had better head home. I have packing to do and a hat to choose of the dozen I bought myself." She winked at Phryne, who smirked back happily.

When the Lady Detective returned from escorting their guest to the door, she found Jane sitting beside Jack on the sofa, whispering with him. It wasn't hard to guess what their conversation was concerning.

Phryne left the two of them to see if Mr. Butler had run a bath for Jack yet. She was quite certain that the Inspector could handle his daughter's curiosity on the matter on his own. Hot, stale air greeted her upon entering her bedroom and she stepped to the window, flinging it wide open. It wasn't much help; the city still hadn't cooled.

A throat being cleared tore her from her musings on the weather.

"I took the liberty of making some arrangements for packing, Ma'am."

Mr. Butler stood behind her with a pile of the Inspector's clothes on his arms that he now laid down on the bed before opening a small suitcase. Phryne smiled thinly, ignoring the dark feeling in her stomach. It had to be the heat and talk of ghosts which was playing tricks on her mind.

"I'm sure he will appreciate it, Mr. Butler. Thank you."

She started riffling through her drawers while listening to her butler run a bath and lay out towels and a pyjama that was most likely not going to be worn. He lingered a moment longer than necessary.

"Is everything all right, Ma'am?"

Phryne started at the question but didn't turn around.

"Fine, Mr. B."

She forced herself to look at him and smile. Of course, there was no chance that he might believe her, but he left all the same when Jack entered. The Inspector lost no time in unbuttoning his shirt while Phryne pretended to be busy filling her own suitcase, stealing only the occasional cheeky glance.

"I fear even Mrs. Collins cannot save this," he mumbled. Phryne stepped closer, taking the torn fabric from his hands.

"Don't underestimate Dot's gift, her hands are magical," she smiled. A fleeting touch of his cheek and she returned to where she had been sorting through her stockings. „I believe Mr. Butler has done your packing," she called to where Jack was stripping out of the rest of his clothes.

"Bless him," the Inspector grinned, slipping into the hot soapy water with a contented sigh. He wasn't quite certain how he had ever lived without servants and the part of him that was still very much a simple policeman scolded him for the thought. But the bare truth was that while he would never allow a paid help to wash or dress him, he had begun to enjoy that someone else was stitching up his clothes and cooking his dinner. Jack had never been particularly good at either and often it had been quite strenuous to come up with the required enthusiasm to scrub a floor after a long day at work. And then of course, both Mr. Butler and the Collins were part of the family, as irreversible as his own presence in the house. Drawn in by the magnet that was the Honourable Phryne Fisher.

With a smile he stretched his sore limbs in the bathtub, glancing at his wife who was weighing up two dresses at present. It seemed to be a toss up as both made it into the sizable suitcase. He wondered briefly why she hadn't packed with Dot's help earlier, but something else was distracting him. A small shadow above her brow, like a lingering doubt. It was hard to notice really, but Jack had spent years studying every line of her face. For a long time it had been all he's had. He fished for the soap, pondering how to approach this.

„What's on your mind?" he heard himself ask. She turned, two blouses in hand.

"Mostly I am currently pondering which one is better suited for those shoes," she pointed out. Jack decided to let her get away with it. She would talk when she was ready.

"The blue one," he smiled therefore, soaping up the sponge.

Finally Phryne closed the lid of her case and sank onto the edge of the bed, watching her husband spread foam over his chest. His arms were glimmering wetly in the dim light and the urge to end this teasing and just ravish him was overwhelming. But she resisted. Like a connoisseur twirling a good red wine, taking in the rich colours and deep aromas, she observed, waited. Finally Jack was sufficiently happy with his state of soapiness and slipped underneath the water level with a small splash. By the time he had wiped his eyes and gotten ready to climb from the tub, water dripping off him, his wife was waiting with a towel. He gulped.

"You're clothes seem to have disappeared, Miss Fisher."

She cocked her head, wordlessly extending the soft fabric to him. The Inspector accepted and started to dry himself without taking his eyes from her. Phryne had a hard time keeping her own from straying. She suspected Jack had sensed her resolution to restrain herself. His strokes where slow and teasing, the soft towel sensually slipping over his chest, his stomach. By the time he reached his thigh her willpower was crumbling. Phryne sucked a shuddering breath through her teeth and extended her fingertips towards his neck. But the Inspector had felt her movement and caught her hand before she had a chance to touch him. Abandoning the towel on the ground, he closed the gap between them and Phryne held her breath in expectation of a kiss. But instead he lifted their joined hands and brushed his lips over the sensitive skin of her wrist. Phryne's pulse jumped at the touch.

The next kisses were pressed to the inside of her elbow, her shoulder, her neck. A tiny sound escaped Phryne's lips then and Jack withdrew briefly to look at her. Her eyes were closed, shutting out the world, everything but the sensation of his touch. His thumb brushed the outside of her breasts as his hands trailed down her body, her scent intoxicatingly sweet in his nose as he returned to his slow seduction. The elevation of her collarbone was the next target for his exploring mouth and he felt her fingers regaining some life, weaving into his hair, a shiver running through her body as he moved lower, tracing the dip of her navel with his tongue. She uttered a delicious sound then, a moan mixing with his name that sent a tremble through the depths of his stomach. A gust of warm night air swept through the open windows; played with the curtains; caressed their exposed bodies; teased their already buzzing nerve-endings.

Despite his undeniable arousal, Jack had stilled, his eyes turned upwards to where Phryne was threatening to burst of anticipation. He found her looking down at him, a smile on her lips as he placed a small kiss on her stomach with the tenderness that was so undeniably Jack that her heart ached. Her fingers untangled from his damp hair, gently stroking over a small cut. The plaster had come unstuck during his bath, baring the dark line of dried blood and bruised flesh.

"Don't do that again," she insisted quietly. He nodded, barely visible.

"There are currently other things I'd prefer to do, Miss Fisher," he smiled, the obscene promise held by his warm voice causing her knees to weaken. Phryne had to steady herself by grasping onto his shoulder. Then he dipped his head and for the time being the dark thoughts dissolved.


	3. Chapter 2: Dancing In The Dark

**Chapter 2: Dancing In The Dark**

"Whatcha want then, Harper?"

"Whatever's not watered down."

The Barman scowled at the man in front of him but knew better than to argue. Yet the way he slammed down the heavy tumbler with a resounding 'Thud' before filling it almost to the brim, spoke of his annoyance with the accusation. The only other man sitting at the bar ignored both men.

"So, O'Neill, hows that old mare of yours? Not actually thinking of having her start, are ya?" Harper taunted. He didn't receive an answer. Instead the man with the weather tanned face drained his beer and threw some coins onto the bar.

"Thanks, Ben. Have a good night."

"Will do, Luke."

The barkeep continued washing his glasses without turning around, absorbed in the quiet chatter and the thick smoke filling his pub. He heard the angry catch of breath when one man grabbed the other's arm in passing. When he did decide to look, the two farmers were standing a mere inch apart, glaring at each other.

"Rude, ain't it. Ignoring me?" Harper snarled. O'Neill pulled himself free from his grasp.

"And what would you know 'bout rudeness, Aidan?"

The older of the two didn't seem to know anything to say to that and Luke huffed, walking towards the door. There he turned.

"And just so you know, my 'Mary' will wipe the floor with both of you. Bet on it!"

Harper's laughter followed him down the dusty street. It was late, but the heat hanging over the valley still oppressing. The young man shoved his hands down his pockets in anger at himself. He should've kept his mouth shut. Mary was a damned fine filly, but she was a farm horse. Harper's pretentious git of a stallion had never seen work for a day in his life; he had been bred and trained for racing. In fact nobody in Woodend or anywhere around would've doubted for a moment that a horse with as stupid a name as 'Evening Wind' could only win the race. After all he had made fifth at the last Melbourne Cup as Aidan Harper hadn't been able to stop telling anyone who wasn't interested – multiple times. Fifth wasn't winning though, was it?

Luke kicked at a stone which disappeared in the dusk. He'd be in need of a small miracle but he'd beat Harper. For once in his life he'd come out in front and if it was the last thing he would do.

X

The sound was hard to ignore, even in the depth of sleep. Jack blinked into the darkness, trying to decipher what had woken him. There it was again – a tiny whimper, barely enough to hear.

"Phryne?"

He turned, finding his wife curled into a ball on the other side of the bed. When he touched her, her eyes snapped open instantly, as if she had only been waiting to be woken.

"Jack?"

"Who else did you expect?" he smiled, settling down beside her and drawing her close. She wrapped herself into his arms without a word of answer. The Inspector couldn't see her face from his position but he felt her open her mouth once or twice attempting an explanation but unable to find the right words.

"Talk to me," he finally murmured when he sensed sleep drifting back in. It wouldn't do to let it rest, but he fully expected her to at least attempt brushing it off. To his surprise she stayed silent for only a moment longer before she finally decided to share.

"Blue ribbons," she finally said quietly. Jack held his breath. "He always uses blue ribbons to tie you... before slitting your throat."

She stopped there as if she feared she had insulted him. He could feel her heartbeat drum against his chest, tension in every muscle. Jack tried to absorb her words while his fingers absent-mindedly stroked her arm soothing circles. Her strange behaviour suddenly made perfect sense. Bad memories had been shaken up by a torn shirt and a few smears of blood. It was so easy at times to slip back into something you'd hoped you'd forgotten.

"Foyle's long since gone," he whispered against her neck. "So are the Brownings."

"I am aware of that, Jack."

Her normal tone of voice was back, now trying to brush off his comfort. He wasn't certain if to be annoyed or relieved by it. She shifted to face him in the dark before he had decided.

"But I can't help fearing your loss."

His breath hitched in his chest at her blunt statement. Phryne wasn't in the habit of sharing those kind of concerns openly. At times he wasn't even certain if she allowed herself such nonsensical feelings.

"I have no intentions of going anywhere," he assured her, pressing her against himself despite the stuffy warmth. Of course he understood her implications. They both lived a dangerous life and they had had their fair share of close encounters. But usually Miss Fisher was the first to shrug those off and move on. She held on tightly, her fingers finding a scar on his back to fiddle with.

"The world is a dangerous place," she stated somewhat muffled by his shoulder.

"You never seem to be too worried about that when you throw yourself at a knife-wielding criminal," he quipped, burying his face in the nook of her neck. She shrugged against his chin.

"That may be so. But then I wouldn't have to live without _me_."

He didn't know what to say to that. The thought alone was suffocating, but her twisted logic niggled at his mind even more.

"So your demise would be an acceptable option?" he asked, trying to disguise his agitation. She didn't move from her position, completely wrapped up in him.

"Of course I'll try to avoid that, Jack, I rather enjoy life. But I'd prefer it to yours. Or Jane's."

The Inspector found himself literally speechless. He guessed he should have been touched, possibly even overwhelmed by her confession. Instead he just felt frustration and fear. Sweat was slicking his chest where she was still pressed against him and the heat was starting to make him feel sticky and uncomfortable on top of his unsettled emotions. He gently retreated from her embrace and pulled himself to the the edge of the bed.

"Jack?"

Her voice was thick with anxiety and he could tell what she was thinking: that he was running from a pending conflict. He wasn't.

"I need some fresh air," he explained, fishing for his still folded pyjama pants. She watched him with big, worried eyes and he couldn't help but smile at her surprise when he extended his hand. "Would you care to come?"

X

The moon was of the colour of honey, hanging from the black night sky golden and ripe. There was a rustle behind him, but the man still jumped when a hand was placed onto his shoulder.

"Can't sleep?" she murmured, slipping down into the rocking chair. She looked strangely out of place on the veranda in her frilly nightdress. Her husband shrugged.

"Memories," he mumbled when his breath had settled.

She didn't say anything to that but quiet squealing accompanied the rocking motion, mixing into the song of the crickets.

"You've gotta tell him," she said. It sounded like a warning, despite the sleepy quality of her voice.

Again he shrugged, draining his glass in silence. A barely concealed flinch told the story of something home-brewed that one could attempt stripping furniture with. His wife watched him for a while in silence.

"He might never forgive me," he stated, then reconsidered. "Us."

"It's not like we had a choice," she said grimly. The white fabric fluttered in the wind, giving her the appearance of a very frilly ghost when she stood.

"Come to bed," she prompted before pulling the door shut behind herself. He nodded, but sat for a long time watching the moon wander over the horizon, thinking of the past and a very grim future.

X

"Quiet," Phryne giggled when Jack hit his foot on the stairs and barely suppressed a cry. "Don't wake Jane."

"I shall convince my toes to refrain from hurting," he hissed between clenched teeth.

"I could make an attempt at distraction," she grinned in return, her hand slipping past the line of his pyjama pants, just when they finally reached the top of the stairs. He grasped her wrist and hurriedly retrieved her exploring fingers when he spotted a dark silhouette sitting on the daybed planted in the middle of the rooftop.

Getting the huge piece of furniture to the top of the house had cost a fair amount of sweat, but it had been worth it. In the oppressing heat of Melbourne's summer months there was no better solution than sleeping underneath the stars, but as the Inspector never tired to point out, he was a few years beyond his 20th birthday and in the end his back had made their beloved messy pile of blankets an impractical choice.

Jane, while cherishing the evenings up here once the wind started to cool down the city, never climbed the stairs at night time. Jack had a suspicion that she had an inkling of the embarrassing situations that could create and had decided to spare all of them the experience. She seemed to have reconsidered tonight.

His daughter jumped when he sat down beside her, obviously having been far away.

"What...?"

She interrupted herself, realising that it was a rather silly question.

"I couldn't sleep," she explained instead. There was something odd to her voice that Jack couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Too hot?" he asked. The shadow of her head answered with a nod. The Inspector just began to wonder where his wife had disappeared to, when a match flared up. He started. The candle drew closer and was set down on a small table before the nightdress clad Phryne climbed onto the sheets to the other side of their daughter.

"You all right?" she asked Jane, stroking a lock of hair from her face. The girl shrugged, retreating barely noticeable from her foster mother's touch. In the flickering light the Inspector noticed the traces of tears and shared a worried look with Phryne, but found her smiling grimly.

"Four days is a long time, isn't it?" she asked happily, stretching out on the bed. Jane didn't answer, but laid down beside her. Jack's eyes followed his two women before he realised that Phryne's chin insisted on him joining them. Obediently he settled down beside his daughter, suddenly intensely aware of his state of half-dress. If Jane thought it was awkward to be only inches away from his exposed chest she didn't show it.

For some time the three just stared up into the dark night sky where the moon hung like a ripe orange, shaming the stars into tiny dots of light. It was a still night, not the hint of a breeze gracing Melbourne with it's presence or offering any relief from the oppressive warmth. The city had quietened to the occasional drunk singing or horseshoes slapping over the cobbles. Jack felt his thoughts spinning lazily through his head without following any of them. He knew he should have dug deeper into the Jane's tears and Phryne's nightmares, but leaden tiredness got the better of him. A week of little but sitting behind his desk sorting through old paperwork had had an exhausting effect on him.

He was startled awake by a voice cutting through the silence.

"Is Harry coming round to take his goodbyes then?" Phryne asked. Jack ripped his blurry eyes open, wondering if either of the women had noticed him nodding off.

"I believe so," Jane murmured.

The Inspector shifted onto his side, realising where Phryne's thoughts were headed. It was obvious really, come to think of it, that Jane's anxiety was turning around the separation from her sweetheart, a young man named Harry Taylor. Jack opened his mouth to explain that four days really weren't a long time at all, but shut it again before any words had had a chance to escape. He had been young himself once. And what was more: He wasn't certain how he would deal with four days in Phryne's absence either.

"You know, you don't have to come," Phryne smiled, grasping for her daughter's fingers and intentionally missing the look her husband shot her over the girl's shoulder. Despite having reluctantly come to terms with Jane's first romance, he wouldn't appreciate the idea of leaving her behind with a young man. "Mr. Butler and the Collins are staying, so you wouldn't be alone."

"I don't mind being alone," Jane explained after a pause in a very decisive tone of voice. "But I do want to see Hanging Rock." She grinned. "And I also did promise Grumps I would go."

"God knows we wouldn't want to offend him," Jack grumbled fondly.

"Considering what it took to conciliate you and your father on your last disagreement, I would certainly prefer not to," Phryne quipped. Jane rolled her eyes at both her parents and started to babble happily about John Robinson's love for horse races. Jack settled deeper into the soft pillows and let her voice wash over him. He slipped into sleep without anyone noticing.


	4. Chapter 3: Those Little Slices Of Death

**Chapter 3: Those Little Slices Of Death**

"Ma'am? Sir?"

Morning sun was burning mercilessly into his face, seeming to cut right through his closed lids. Jack started awake and rubbed his eyes until they settled on the blurry face of Mr. Butler.

"Doctor MacMillan and Miss Morgan are downstairs."

Jack pulled himself to the edge of the daybed while behind him Phryne and Jane came back to life with some sounds of protest. Obviously they all had fallen asleep up here. Even Mr. Butler looked like he had just crawled out of bed, which was certainly unusual but not something that he could be blamed for after a night in this heat. Groaning, Jack inspected his watch.

"It is barely half past seven," he explained, suppressing a yawn.

"Mac has finally lost her mind," Phryne stated from the other side of the bed. "It was bound to happen eventually."

Jack grinned to himself. His wife wasn't particularly fond of mornings, a fact that never ceased to amuse the Inspector who had spent most of his life getting up with the birds. Despite that he had to admit he felt ragged.

"They said they'd be early," Jane yawned. "I didn't think they meant before sunrise."

Jack didn't point out that the sun had very obviously risen as the brightness of the fiery ball currently threatened to blind him. He was too busy rubbing some life back into his throbbing shoulder. It had been merely scraped in the fight last night, but after several hours of sleeping on it, it was now protesting the mistreatment vehemently.

"I had better greet them," Phryne decided, taking the offered morning gown from her servant while measuring her husbands half naked silhouette with interested eyes. She loved the sleepy quality of a just woken Jack, the tousled hair and small eyes glancing into a new day. The bruise on his cheek had darkened to an alarming shade of purple, distracting her briefly from his sweaty chest. The dark feeling in the pit of her stomach roared loudly. She brushed it off. Just a silly bar fight, nothing to worry about. "You might want to get dressed, Jack."

With a flirtatious smile she disappeared, leaving an annoyed Inspector behind with Mr. Butler.

"Shall I prepare some breakfast, Sir?" he asked. Jack nodded, flinching as he moved his stiff shoulder and got to his feet.

"That sounds like a terribly good idea, Mr. Butler. Distract the invading hordes, if you please."

He quirked a smile that was echoed on the servant's features.

"We need to delay our departure at least until young Mr. Taylor has shown his face," he added quietly after Jane had yawningly stumbled down the stairs towards her room.

"I will attempt my hardest, Sir," the older man promised as they reached the first floor.

"Good man."

Mr. Butler watched the grinning Inspector open the door to his bedroom with a fond smile.

How times had changed.

X

A breeze swept over the hills, rustling through dry grass and thistles. An Ewe lazily got to her feet and started grazing. Her friend watched her from where she was lying in the grass, chewing. Both started in alarm when a dark shape shot over the hilltop.

"Angus! Foot!"

With a disappointed howl the dog drew a circle, racing away in the other direction. The confused sheep stared after him before they returned to their business of chewing their way through the wilderness. It was a hard life.

Further down the hill where most of the flock was huddled around a small watering hole, Luke was too distracted to scold his dog for running off. He had spotted a horse drawing closer against the bright morning sky. Blinking into the sunlight, he doffed his hat at the rider.

"Morning, Grace."

"Good morning, Luke."

She halted the brown filly beside him, climbing to the ground with one swift movement. The horse whinnied her disapproval.

"I thought you'd be out with 'Evening Wind' today," the farmer commented, rubbing the animals soft nose. Grace smiled.

"I'm afraid he is a little worn at the moment. Aidan took him over the racetrack in the break of dawn until they were both close to falling over of exhaustion. You wouldn't happen to know what got into him?"

"Not the faintest idea," Luke lied, intensifying his attentions on the horse in order to not look into her eyes. But he could just imagine her cock her head at him with that meaningful smile. The disadvantage of knowing someone all your life.

"It's a shame really to not race her," his old friend said casually. The melancholy in her voice startled him. "Athena could be a winner, but he won't have it."

Luke huffed, but didn't express what he was really thinking.

"What else but ignorance would you expect from a man who calls his horses 'Athena' and 'Evening Wind'?" he asked dryly. She laughed.

"Careful, Luke, you _are_ talking about my husband."

"And don't I know it," he grumbled under his breath.

There was uncomfortable silence for a long moment while the young farmer's wife bent down to pay the neglected Angus some attention. Luke didn't ask, but Grace seemed to read his thoughts.

"He is a good man, underneath all the gravel," she said to nobody in particular. When Luke just grumbled she looked up at him, her bright eyes blazing in annoyance.

"You need to stop provoking him. We've been friends as long as I can think, Luke, but my loyalty has to be with my husband."

The farmer nodded while his fists clenched by his sides. She got to her feet and brushed the dirt from herself.

"Please don't force me into making that choice."

He nodded at her serious expression.

"Course not," he mumbled, an insult on his tongue that he swallowed down. "I'll be a good boy then, shall I?" he asked the filly, who was starting to get impatient with the chitter-chatter of humans and wanted to continue her gallop over the fields.

"As if that had ever worked," Grace grinned, mounting her horse. He donned his hat at her in farewell.

"Just take care of yourself, will ya?" he asked.

"Naturally," she called, driving the horse towards the hill under the bahhing of a ram who had been wandering across her path and was forced to hurry out of the way of hoofs. Luke bit his lip as horse and rider dissolved into the landscape. Only after they had disappeared on the horizon did he realise that Angus had returned his attentions to terrorising the sheep.

X

"Jane? I would like to arrive today if it's all the same to you!" Hazel called towards the hedges behind which the girl was hiding with Harry for some stealthy kisses before they had to separate for a whole four days. Her request was answered with some gentle sarcasm from Mac, who enjoyed teasing her lover as much as the next girl. Phryne impatiently honked the horn in an effort to get the girl to finally join them in the car. After everybody had had breakfast as well as the necessary other restoration works of washing, changing and make-up, they were now late on their planned departure and the heat was already starting to creep through the streets of the late morning. Instead of Jane, however, another female figure raced down the garden path.

"Your hat, Ma'am," she called, a little out of breath, swinging a round box. Phryne climbed out of the car and received the piece of luggage with open arms.

"You are a treasure, Dot."

She pressed a kiss to the other woman's cheek, who had the decency to blush.

"You are quite certain that you don't want to change your mind?" she asked her assistant. Dorothy smiled.

"Very certain, Ma'am. I couldn't stand being without Hugh and Thomas for so long. And while Miss Aberville seems quite good with little Tommy, he hardly knows her of yet."

Phryne nodded. She had finally uncovered a nurse for Dot's little son, but the young woman had started barely a week ago. Of course his mother wouldn't leave them alone for several days to enjoy a horse race.

"Not that we would have room for you in the car," a voice said happily. Jane pulled a bright red Harry behind her onto the garden path. He looked like he wanted to die on the spot of embarrassment and Phryne wondered just what her daughter had done to the poor boy.

"I wasn't certain if you were still coming," she teased the girl. Jane scowled at her for a moment.

"I told you, I promised," she insisted.

"Well, then you'd better get in the car. We are all set to leave," Phryne pointed out, watching the young lovers reluctantly let go of each other. She could imagine Jack's expression right now and had to suppress a grin.

"Well, Dot, if you are quite sure we will see you Tuesday night. Take care that Mr. Butler doesn't do anything silly."

She winked at her maid and stored the hatbox at Jane's feet in the already overflowing Hispano before climbing back behind the wheel.

"Are we ready then?" she asked.

"As ready as one can be for your driving style, darling girl," Mac grinned from the back seat. Phryne huffed and pulled out onto the street. The hot wind chased after them for a while but had to finally give up when it ran out of breath.

X

"Are you ready, Dear?"

Iris quickly shoved the metal box back into her suitcase and slammed it shut before her husband rushed into the bedroom.

"Of course," she agreed. Rupert cocked his head at her in question but didn't ask. She wondered if she had closed the lid properly. Otherwise there would be a nasty surprise later on.

"Has John arrived then?" she asked.

"He is waiting downstairs," her husband confirmed, halting in the door frame. "In the best of moods, I should add."

"That's certainly a surprise."

Rupert's only answer was a lopsided grin.

"We had better head out then before the heat gets any worse," Iris sighed, lifting her suitcase from the bed. Being a gentleman of the old school Rupert wrestled the heavy piece from her hands without a word to carry it downstairs. Iris followed slowly, painting a smile onto her face.

X

The sign creaked above their heads as the group stepped through the door, blinking into the sudden darkness. The small hotel right in the middle of Woodend was a far shot from "The Windsor", but it was clean and Phryne caught Mac longingly glance at a deep and slightly shabby leather chair near the fireplace. The Doctor had a long week lying behind her and spending an hour in a car with Phryne Robinson hadn't helped her sense of relaxation.

"Cosy," Hazel stated. Jack wasn't quite certain if he heard sarcasm.

"Good morning."

The voice belonged to a young brunette in a summer dress that had gone out of fashion about three years ago. The tiny fauxpaus was completely overshadowed by a stunning smile and a pair of bright green eyes that measured the guests with friendly curiousity. The Inspector was the first to step forward and inquire after the booked rooms.

"Are you in town for the race?" the young woman, going by the name of Rosemary Wilson asked, while she fumbled with the keys.

"Indeed we are," Phryne answered in stead of her husband, who seemed annoyingly taken by the bright red lipstick the woman donned and had made several near flirtatious remarks in the last few minutes.

"The remainder of our party should arrive soon," she added with a faint smile.

The woman creased her brow, letting a manicured fingertip trail over a page in her book.

"I believe they are here already. Mr. Robinson is booked into room 14, Mr. and Mrs. Walker occupy No. 15."

Mac laughed.

"They must have driven like the devil was behind them."

Phryne was well aware that she was being teased and chose to ignore her friend's raised eyebrow. Panting behind them called their attention to Jane and Hazel, who had begun to unload the Hispano.

"That looks very heavy," Rosemary frowned, already turning towards a door. "Robert?"

A handsome man, possibly in his thirties showed his face a mere moment later, folding a paper onto the counter.

"What is it my darling?" he asked before noticing her company.

"My husband, Robert Wilson," the woman introduced. "Would you please assist our guests with their luggage?"

While Jack followed the friendly chattering man down a dark corridor, both weighed down with suitcases and hatboxes, he noticed the slippers on the man's feet. Obviously they had disturbed him during reading his newspaper. The Inspector couldn't help but grin. A far shot from the Windsor indeed. The thought was reinforced by the flowery pattern that greeted him from every wall and fabric in the small double room they were shown. The tacky gilden number on the door, from which the paint was peeling, announced the room to be no. 13. They were wall to wall with Iris and Rupert.

"The young lady is right next door," Mr. Wilson helpfully announced. Mac and Hazel occupied a room further down the hall. If the man was wondering about the two women sharing a bed, he didn't voice his concern.

Jane was already knocking on No. 14 in anticipation to greet her 'grumps', but was disappointed by a distinct lack of reply.

"I fear the gentleman has gone for a wander around town."

Mr. Wilson seemed almost ready to apologize for John Robinson's absence. "I believe he was headed to the news agency at the corner," he added after a moment of thought. Jane spun on her heels, tilting her head at her mother. Phryne smiled thinly.

"Go ahead."

She had barely finished the words when the girl had already disappeared. Phryne felt a sense of relief when the heavy door fell shut behind her, reducing the world to Jack, her and an ocean of green-pink flowery pattern. The curtains had been drawn closed to keep some of the heat out and dipped the room into a soft emerald. With a contented sigh the Inspector sat down the suitcase and fell into one of the armchairs matching the ones downstairs. Sweat was glistening in his neck as he loosened his tie. He had to be bursting to get out of his suit, Phryne mused. The thought to give him a hand was tempting but she suspected that soon their attention would be demanded by their extended family. While he struggled out of his coat, she did her best to ignore the ideas flooding her brain.

Phryne could not resist, however, to step behind him and rake her fingers through his hair. The sound her motion drew from him reminded awfully of a purr. Such encouraged, her hands trailed down the line of his neck and fell onto his shoulders. Jack hummed his appreciation when she started rubbing his neck, gentle hands kneading his tense muscles.

"One could be forgiven for thinking that a lack of criminals would relax you," she murmured. Jack only smiled.

"Criminals have always paled in comparison to the grief you give me, Miss Fisher," he quipped without opening his eyes. Phryne briefly considered pouting but considering his current position that seemed a rather fruitless exercise.

"I'm pleased to hear it," she smiled instead, pressing a tender kiss to his head that had lolled back against the chair. The Inspector let his lashes flutter open to measure her with an upside down glance out of tired, soft eyes and Phryne's heart warmed at the sight. Her Jack.

"I suspected you might do it intentionally," he murmured, shifting into a more comfortable position while her slender fingers kept on their task. She could feel the tension ease away, the muscles melt into her hands. After several minutes of silence Phryne sensed Jack's breath even out. She didn't dare stop in fear of startling him and tenderly continued rubbing his neck until she was certain that he had nodded off. Then she detached herself and slipped onto the edge of the bed opposite of her husband's sleeping frame. Despite his face being flushed from the warmth and the bruise an ugly shade of purple, he looked rather peaceful. It occurred to her briefly that it was a strange thing to do - fall asleep in the middle of the day, in an armchair no less.

Jack enjoyed a whole array of nightly activities, not all of of them of a physical nature. And while Phryne cherished his weakness for good whiskey, good novels and good sex, it wasn't a particularly well made match with an occupation that demanded him to crawl out of bed in the first daylight. So it was fair to say that he was used to surviving on little sleep between stressful days. And there had been very little excitement to be had in the past weeks. How could he be this tired from pushing around paperwork?

A gentle knock tore Phryne from a thought that she hadn't intended to finish even in her head. On tip-toes she rushed to the door and ripped it open to find Mac standing in front of her.

"Oh good, you are dressed," she smirked. "I believe I just lost a wager with Iris."

Hazel, standing somewhat down the hall accompanied by her sister and brother-in-law chuckled at that.

Phryne nodded at the people she hadn't had a chance to greet of yet. Rupert grinned at her.

"I'm afraid Jack is rather exhausted," she explained quietly towards the doctor.

"I wouldn't dare ask," her friend quipped. "Would you care to join us for lunch?"

Phryne glanced briefly at the armchair that was turned towards the window, hiding her husbands sleeping features. Her stomach growled.

"You know, I am not very hungry," she said after a moment's thought.

"Suit yourself," Mac answered. "I'll expect you will join us for an exploration later on?"

Phryne agreed before carefully closing the door. Jack didn't stir. She was still pondering her reasoning when she lifted her suitcase onto the bed and began unpacking.


	5. Chapter 4: Come To The Edge

**Chapter 4: Come To The Edge**

"They are letting all sorts in here, do they?"

Jane flinched at the deep voice before turning with a massive grin on her face. Behind her stood a tall man whose impressive cheekbones weren't challenged in the slightest by the grey head of hair. John Robinson smirked at his granddaughter, his dark eyes glittering in amusement.

"I see you are your usual annoying self," she quipped, stepping closer to give him a hug that he allowed despite a hint of embarrassment. The white haired lady holding the small shop had trouble not to stare too obviously at the strange display of fondness.

"Have you grown?" John asked, holding the girl by the shoulders at arm's length. Jane rolled her eyes.

"Hardly since last month," she protested.

"Must be going blind then," he grumbled, heading towards the counter while fiddling some coins from his pockets. A quiet clunking accompanied both activities.

"Well, you are quite old," Jane cheekily threw in, fishing a dropped quarter from the floor. John growled at her while he paid for his paper and a moment later, both stepped back out into the blinding sunshine.

"So, where are your parents hiding?"

"They chose to stay at the hotel," Jane explained, taking his arm.

"Typical," John smiled as they strolled along the sidewalk. "Hiding from me."

"You can hardly blame them."

"Apparently not."

He sounded absent-minded, their bantering forgotten and Jane's eyes followed his to what had distracted his attention. A couple of men were arguing in front of the rusty facade of a butchery. One of them seemed the very incarnation of a butcher, heavy set, his apron covered in drying blood, gesturing with a knife, the other a gentleman, tall and quite attractive aside from his face that was almost purple with anger.

"I wonder what they're arguing about," she mumbled under her breath.

"That's none of our concern," John answered.

"That's what makes it fun," Jane grinned, pulling him closer in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner. Her Grumps intended to protest but the retired policeman in him wouldn't have it. They had almost reached the two men, who were now entangled in something that could have been called a fighting stance, when the hissed words reached their ears.

"I won't allow you to ruin this town, you ignorant fool."

A bitter laugh answered.

"I wonder how you propose to stop me! With that blunt knife of yours?"

"Don't give me ideas, Harper!"

The man called Harper suddenly seemed to notice that they had an audience as he pulled himself upright, abandoning his threatening gesture.

"I doubt we'll come to an agreement, Packard," he said calmly. "Why don't you just head back into your shop."

The other man glared at him, not moving an inch while Jane and John were forced to walk past him and his knife. They hurried a little more than they usually would have.

"As long as it still is yours," the man added, a barely concealed grin in his voice. Jane found she was holding her breath, but to her surprise there was no sound of a man being murdered in the middle of the street, instead a small bell indicated someone leaving a shop. When she glanced over her shoulder she noticed a young woman approach the two men with her hands raised. They were too far away to hear what she was saying but she was speaking to the men with the quiet patience of someone who wasn't trying to make peace for the first time and was used to limited success. Finally Packard did return behind his counter and the two people wandered off in the other direction.

"Well, that was a bit of street entertainment," John smirked, laying his hand over Jane's.

"A very harmonious little town," she mused aloud, glancing after the retreating couple.

"What a good thing we are only here until Tuesday," her grandfather smiled as they reached the entry of their hotel. Jane couldn't disagree with that.

X

An hour later Mrs. Phryne Robinson parked the Hispano behind Rupert Walker's car at the foot of a small mountain. The columns of rock crowning the green forest stretched majestically towards the sky, making it easy to imagine just why there were so many legends weaving around this piece of landscape. For a long moment the group just stood, taking in the view of Mount Diogenes, or 'Hanging Rock' as it was called much more fitting by the locals. To the other side the plain stretched into the distance, dotted with sheep.

"I can see what you liked about this place," Jack stated towards Iris, who had found a spot beside him. She threw a barely noticeable glance at her husband before answering.

"It's smaller than I remembered."

The Inspector, who of course had noticed her reluctance, couldn't help but wonder if Rupert was fully aware of his wife's history with the rock. But Rupert was currently discussing the geography with Jane and seemed completely oblivious to any secrets harbored.

"I doubt it has shrunk," Jack grinned, offering his arm to his cousin and following an animatedly chattering Mac and Hazel up the path leading into the eucalyptus forest. Phryne watched him from the distance when she felt a hand brush her arm.

"A beautiful place, isn't it?" John asked her calmly.

"Stunning."

A strained smile accompanied this statement and for a long moment she felt the eyes of her father-in-law rest on her before he offered his company. She accepted. The smell of gum trees and soil greeted them as they climbed the hill. Phryne concentrated on her heels not digging into the ground, listening to the mixture of Jane laughing behind her and the quiet talking of the parties in front of her.

"Then why do you look like someone spat into your tea?" she heard John ask. She started, glancing at Jack as if she feared he'd had witnessed their conversation. But he was completely absorbed in talking to Iris.

"I imagine you have noticed your son's face?"

She felt John shrug.

"A small confrontation with a drunkard. Those happen to policemen more often than we'd like to admit. Not all of our profession is as glamorous as a murder investigation."

Phryne noticed with fondness how he spoke about policing as if he had never retired. But it was only a sidenote to the strange feeling of dark foreboding that she couldn't seem to shake ever since she had seen Jack step into the parlour in a blood-encrusted shirt.

"I wouldn't exactly call murder glamorous," she protested half-heartedly, watching the Inspector stumble over a root and being barely able to keep his balance with the help of his companion. He was laughing about his mishap, but Phryne didn't share his amusement. John noticed her stiffen and found himself confused. His daughter-in-law was certainly not a worryguts.

"What's going on?" he asked quietly.

"Whatever do you mean?" she replied with fake nonchalance.

"Don't try this with me, Phryne. That smile might work its magic on Jack, I'm not falling for it," he growled. The Lady-Detective weighed her options. Lying to an old and rather grumpy policeman was obviously not going to prove successful. But the truth was rather embarrassing.

"I've been having a recurring nightmare," she explained, hardly audible over the crunching of feet.

"That is certainly a great reason to be out of sorts," the old man grumbled.

"The first time it occurred I found my friend's husband face down in the lake," Phryne continued coldly. Her father-in-law took his time to answer.

"Unless you drowned him yourself, that was probably not a connected event," John pointed out. Phryne smiled thinly at his joke.

"I may have been tempted, but no."

They walked on in silence, reaching rocky territory.

"The second time a man threw himself from a tower right in front of our eyes," she said, shuddering at the memory.

"You certainly live an exciting life," John quipped, grimacing as he brushed his shoulder against a rough stone. The four people in front of them had disappeared in the maze of rocks and Phryne felt her unsettled feelings protest against leaving Jack out of her sight. Her steps quickened as they turned a corner. She spotted a piece of his suit in the distance and took a breath of relief.

"You don't truly believe that your dreams cause bad things to happen?" John asked suddenly. She glanced at his serious face.

"The night before Jane was trapped in the bedroom of a murderess."

He opened his mouth to protest and Phryne wondered briefly if they had told him about how close Jane's brush with danger had been that day. She continued before he had a chance to think too hard about that.

"When Sanderson sent us to Collingwood. I'm sure you remember how that ended."

It was the old Robinson's turn to shudder.

"I assume the newspapers didn't exaggerate?"

Phryne shook her head, her blue eyes measuring her husband who had stopped to run his fingers over a particularly interesting texture in the stone. The sun fell through the openings, drawing a pattern over the path. Behind them they heard Jane argue with her uncle over the working of vulcanoes. Despite the heat Phryne felt cold.

"He escaped being shot by a hair's breadth. Twice," she explained quietly, lest anyone but her conversation partner might hear her. "Our friend Eddie wasn't so lucky."

"Neither were you, if I recall correctly."

Phryne shrugged. The bullet to her shoulder just added to her argument. She could sense John's jaw working without looking at him. There was no good time to remind a father of how dangerous his son's job really was. She knew that the Inspector didn't talk about it himself, downplayed it even when pressed. But she needed John to understand, she realised with sudden clarity. He of all people could apprehend what it meant.

"Jack's a policeman!" he ground out. "A_good_ policeman! He steps on toes. And God knows, the two of you have seen more than anyone should... And arguably so has Jane," he added on afterthought when he realised that he had raised his voice and glanced down the path to see if his granddaughter had heard him. Luckily she seemed still to be held up by a heated discussion about the creation of this mountain.

"But all this talk about nightmares. You don't even believe in such nonsense, Phryne!"

She nodded grimly.

"I don't," she agreed. They didn't speak another word until they reached the top.

From here the views over the surroundings were marvellous. Deep down the racetrack wrapped around a lake which glittered in the sunlight, followed by seemingly endless land stretching into the distance. Other hills and mountains raised their green heads to greet the visitors.

"Now this is just as beautiful as I remember," Iris breathed.

"Certainly a better choice for a honeymoon location than Collingwood," Mac quipped with a side glance at Jack.

"I will not argue with that," the Inspector grinned, stretching his face into the sun. After his nap he had woken refreshed, if a little stiff from sleeping in an unusual position, to find that Phryne had done all the unpacking and was bursting to explore the area. She showed no sign any more of last night's emotions and while that confused him a little, he wasn't going to dwell on it. Miss Fisher had always been good at letting go of uncomfortable subjects, a talent he envied her for.

Jane also seemed to have come to enjoy their weekend away. Seeing his foster daughter slipping effortlessly into the company of his family as if she had been born into it still warmed his heart in a terribly sentimental manner. She also had completely forgotten to pine after her missing sweetheart, which filled the Inspector with some relief.

While Jack had to grumpily admit that Harry Taylor was a nice young chap, his fear that Jane would run off with the boy before she had found her feet in the world, was still very much alive. The Inspector had married young and out of love himself and maybe, if the War hadn't gotten in the way, they could have made it work. But he doubted very much that he could have ever found true fulfilment in his bond with Rosie, no matter how hard he'd tried.

"Where are you off to then?" a voice asked him softly.

He looked up into the muddy green eyes of Hazel, who gave him a knowing smile.

"Pondering the obstacles of marriage," he admitted truthfully with an embarrassed grin of his own.

"None of my concern then," she grinned back. There was a tiny bit of melancholy around her eyes that didn't go unnoticed by the Inspector nor her sister.

"In the end it's love, not marriage that is truly remarkable," he said quietly enough for only his two cousins to hear.

Hazel nodded in a fashion that told him she had heard that very argument many times and was almost willing to believe it.

"Right you are," she said, without bothering to hide a smidgen of sadness. "And in that regard I am a very lucky girl."

"I've no doubt about that," Jack mumbled, watching Phryne and Mac stand together in animated conversation. His cousin pressed his hand gratefully and he felt the lump in his throat dissolve. Despite all the obstacles that came with their sexuality, Mac and Hazel _were_ rather lucky. They had found support in the family after some initial battles and lived together in a small house in the south of Melbourne - a fact that was mostly ignored by neighbours and colleagues. It was really as much as one could hope for. Jack knew with absolute certainty that it was still unfair, but it was all the world was willing to offer them at this point in time. And he had been a policeman for long enough to have seen the alternatives.

He tried to shift his thoughts back to the wonderful landscape rather than drift too deeply into dark musings, only to notice that both his cousins had fallen silent on him. "Shall we move on?" he asked, leading both of them away from the edge. A pair of blue eyes followed his every move from the other side of the opening.

"You seem a little off today," Mac stated, casually lighting herself a cigarette. Phryne forced herself to smile as she absent-mindedly played with her scarf.

"I'm rather tired. Someone has chosen to appear at my doorstop before the break of dawn."

"Oh, don't exaggerate," her friend scolded grinning while watching Jane being chased around a stone pillar by her grandfather.

"Jane?" she heard Phryne call. "Do be careful please, it is a long drop."

"We are nowhere near the edge," her daughter protested, but slowed all the same. A moment later she was tackled by her Grumps, who might have been a good officer, but never a fair sportsman. Laughingly she struggled against his grip, while Rupert watched on in amusement.

"Quite amazing," Mac mumbled, deeply inhaling. Without a word Phryne plucked the gleaming cigarette from her fingers and took a drought herself.

"Who of them?"

"Both," Mac stated firmly. "You have been truly working your magic, old girl."

She stole her gasper back from her friend's finger and grasped for Phryne's arm, who couldn't help but grin at the implication.

"And look at Jack, he has shed years since he's fallen under your spell," she added, just when both the woman flanking him burst into giggles about something the Inspector had said. Phryne swallowed down any comment about him looking pale underneath his bruises. Mac would have been the first to notice if anything was wrong with him. She was a doctor and a very observant one at that. Phryne glanced up a rock stretching into the blue sky, seeming to be watching her out of two deep, dark eyes. On her blinking it turned back into a stone with an interesting pattern.

'Oh, do get a grip', she scolded herself silently. 'You aren't afraid of ghosts!'


	6. Chapter 5: Marmalade Skies

**Chapter 5: Marmalade Skies**

"You can't possibly be serious!"

Athena started at the raised voice of her owner, nervously scraping a hoof over the floor of her box. The other man's tense eyes flew to the horse, before he took his friend by the arm. This place had obviously been badly picked for this business discussion.

"Not here!"

"I don't even know why I called you," Harper growled, but allowed himself to be led out into the hot afternoon and into a hidden part of the court yard.

"Because I am good at my chosen occupation," the short man said smoothly. "And your friend. However, I am bound to the restrictions of reality."

Aidan Harper huffed, staring past his friend's ear out into the fields where sheep grazed in complete oblivion to his personal crisis.

"So, what can we do?" he asked, his voice completely calm all of a sudden.

The other man drew a deep breath.

"There is one thought, but it demands absolute secrecy."

Harper glanced around the courtyard where Grace was currently emerging with a basket on her way to the chicken coop. A soft afternoon breeze played in her blonde curls.

"Especially concerning her!" his friend insisted. "She's too much of a goody-two shoes."

"I would prefer if you didn't talk like this about my wife," Harper said sharply. His friend merely grinned, ignoring his rightous anger.

"If we are clever, we might even kill two birds with one stone."

The farmer's ears pricked up at those words.

"So, what is the plan?"

X

By the time the group returned to the 'Queen Victoria Hotel', Jane's stomach was growling and Phryne positively starving. But even the part of the family who had taken lunch felt a tad peckish and it was quickly agreed upon meeting for some afternoon tea downstairs.

Iris choose to head upstairs to powder her nose. Upon returning to her room, she was greeted by the stare of her suitcase still laying on the flowery doona, as of yet unopened. She briefly glanced at the door as if she expected someone to interrupt her before she stepped closer and snapped open the locks. It took her a moment to recover the box from the clothes that had been somewhat shaken around in the bumpy ride. With a sigh of relief she ran a gentle fingertip over the still firmly closed lid before lifting the container from it's soft nest. She dropped to her knees and shoved it underneath the bed.

"Sorry," she whispered under her breath, even though it was completely ridiculous. When the box had disappeared she pulled herself to her feet and brushed faint dust from her dress and, after a moment's thought, closed her suitcase again.

When she arrived in the small dining room a few minutes later it was already buzzing with people, gathered about teapots and sandwich platters. They were not the only ones who had arrived from Melbourne for the race as the colourful collection of dresses proved. The women here certainly weren't farmer's wives. Between them flitted like bees Rosemary and a grey-haired lady, who shared on second glance, a certain similarity with the attractive hotel owner. Iris spotted the back of Phryne's red patterned blouse between the people and little later found Rupert across from her. Her husband tilted his head at her as if he was wondering something and Iris worried if her cheeks were burning. Bravely she approached, slipping on a chair between Jack and John.

"There you are," her cousin grinned. "We were wondering if you had gotten lost."

"Hardly," she quipped, locking eyes with Rupert, who was still watching her. She forced herself to smile.

"Now, here are the sandwiches and the scones will be just a minute," the elderly lady said, lifting a silver platter between the people. "My sister is just pulling them out of the oven as we speak," she chattered on, while Phryne turned to the waitress with a surprised expression on her face.

"Would you like to try our lovely elderberry jam with them? An old family recipe," she went on, obviously a sentence she had repeated a hundred times in the day. Phryne's mouth fell open.

"Miss Green?" Jack asked what was lying on her tongue.

The waitress's head snapped up as the Inspector shook her out of her oiled routine. Her shock only lasted a second.

"Inspector Robinson? What a surprise. Did murder bring you out here or the race?"

"The race for the time being," Rupert quipped dryly. "But one never knows with those two."

John laughed at this.

"Would you care to introduce us to your acquaintance, Jack?" Mac asked.

"Miss Green was one of my dancing teachers," Jane explained before her parents could answer and asked in the direction of the elderly lady: "What happened?"

An embarrassed shrug was for the time being the only answer.

"I don't wish to be rude," she said, "but it is very busy right now. Maybe we could postpone the formalities until it quietens down somewhat?"

"Of course," Phryne smiled. "It wasn't in our intention to be intrusive," she added, with a stern look at her daughter. But Mia Green just smiled.

"There is nothing wrong with curiosity, Mrs. Robinson. I am quite certain it is in the best interest of a Detective. But I do have to string you along for the time being. Now, how about the jam?"

Phryne and Jack looked at each other.

"Strawberry will do, thank you."

A smile whispered over Mia Green's face before she disappeared with the promise to return later and satisfy their curiosity.

"Are you going to share what that was about?" Hazel asked, chewing on a sandwich. Phryne turned to her.

"Miss Green was a suspect in a recent case," she explained calmly, lifting her tea cup to her lips and leaving a red stain on the porcelain. "A murder by poisonous jam."

John coughed around the raspberry-pastry he had been devouring.

"She was innocent I gather?" he asked when he could breath again.

"As far as we could establish," Jack grinned, soothingly patting his father on the back, which earned him a quiet scowl.

The rest of the tea passed with excited chatter reliving various cases of the past, the two policemen at the table battling each other with strange stories. The jam pot stayed, as Phryne noticed with some amusement, surprisingly full the entire time.

X

"We had another one escaping this afternoon," Jalboo said between bites.

"You had better head out to fix that fence first thing in the morning," Peter O'Neill answered without looking up from his plate. The farmhand had been working for him long enough to be well aware that his lack of attention wasn't an insult. The man was busy with his thoughts and plenty of them from the look of it.  
"I might go tonight, if the weather holds," he said. Only a hummed agreement answered him as cutlery clattered. Laura started talking about the market, hiding her anxiety about the empty chair at the table. It wasn't like it was unusual that the young farmer was missing a meal. Luke worked hard and often too long. But in the recent months things had made a turn for the worse. He often stayed out until late, wouldn't talk to anyone about what he was doing. His mother chattered on, making an effort to not show her worry, yet convincing nobody.

Jalboo felt the tension in the room grow and finished his tea in a hurry. He jumped to his feet, startling Peter.

"I had better get a move on if I still want to repair that fence," he mumbled in form of explanation, wiping his mouth.

"Take Marina," Pete said. "She's been locked in the stable all day. Will be happy to go for a run."

The farmhand nodded.

The brown mare greeted him with a nudge to the shoulder. He grinned, gently patting her muzzle, trailing his fingers over the distinctive white spot on her nose.

"Hey old girl, ya up for a ride?"

Marina didn't seem opposed to this, showing her apprehension by making it as hard as possible to saddle her. Jalboo didn't let that bother him, he was used to the temperamental horse.

While he tightened the straps, he glanced at the empty box next door. So Luke was out with Mary. Not particularly surprising but the farmhand fancied he had an idea what his master was up to when he rid out into the early evening.

X

The once buzzing dining room had calmed down to just a few stray parties. The afternoon tea had seamlessly blended into dinner, but the party around the Robinsons had passed on the latter. It had been a long day for all of them and after devouring mountains of roastbeef-sandwiches and pastries they could barely move. From somewhere a few bottles of red wine had appeared and Phryne felt slightly tipsy by now, staring with curious eyes at the many photographs scattered over the wallpaper. A young, serious looking woman with dark locks took her particular interest.

"Evie Harper," a voice said behind her, startling her. "This was taken on my sister's wedding day. She was the maid of honour."

Mrs. Robinson turned to where Miss Green stood with another bottle, true to her word having returned.

"She's very pretty," she said, offering the chair next to herself, which had been abandoned by a tired Jane.

"She was indeed," the older woman smiled, sitting down and filling both her glass and that of the Lady Detective. Phryne took a sip of wine before she allowed herself to pursue the subject she was more interested in than long ago weddings.

"I can't help but be curious, Miss Green. The last time I saw you you were a dancing teacher down in Melbourne. I didn't exactly expect finding you here."

A thin smile answered her.

"Madame had been right about her prediction. Her dancing school didn't survive the scandal."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Jack threw in from where he had been quietly listening to the conversation while half-heartedly engaging in the one on the other side of the table.

Mia Green straightened her dark skirt.

"I guess between a murder and art-theft that was to be expected," she quipped. "We were already on shaky ground and he Rileys retrieving their money was the final nail in the coffin of 'Madame Claudine's'."

"I'm surprised," Phryne explained. "Julian would have attempted to keep the school going, surely."

"He protested, but in vain. And of course he has plenty on his plate right now with his wedding and the extension of the family."

Mia grinned broadly, seemingly brushing the dark memories off.

"But that is water under the bridge. And here I am again in my lovely home town. After I thought I had made my lucky escape."

Phryne caught a humorous sparkle in her eyes that promised the Lady hadn't given up just yet.

"Aunt Amilia?" a voice called across the room. Miss Green sighed good-naturedly.

"I trust you have met my niece?"

She waved Rosemary over to the table.

"We have made the acquaintance earlier," the Inspector explained, while he was introduced yet again to the pretty young woman.

"So you are friends of Aunt Amilia's?" she asked, obviously excited about meeting such an obvious connection with her aunt's life in Melbourne.

"Not exactly," Jack quipped. "We forged an acquaintance during a murder investigation."

"How very exciting. You must tell me everything about it, but I'm afraid right now we are both needed in the back."

Miss Green rose to her feet with a sigh.

"I fear my attendance is demanded in the kitchen, but I am certain our paths will cross again."

"Undoubtedly," John quipped.

Phryne glanced at her father-in-law in some surprise. She hadn't realised he had even been listening. For a moment Mia Green's eyes locked with the elderly man's and there was a strange energy in the air.

Then she smiled sarcastically.

"I regret to say that I don't recall making _your_ acquaintance."

"I can't pretend that I feel deep regret about that," John grumbled under his breath while he rose stiffly to his feet. "John Robinson. How do you do? "

An understanding smile spread over Miss Green's features as she grasped the man's hand.

"I should have known. The similarities with your son are considerate," she glanced at Jack, who was still quietly scowling at his father's bad behaviour. "Merely the good manners are somewhat lacking."

The whole table gaped at the open attack, but John didn't seem shocked at her return at all.

"I am glad to hear it," he grumbled, sitting back down. Mia Green grinned broadly before pulling Rosemary behind herself into the kitchen.

The strange display was quickly forgotten as the group decided what to do with their evening entertainment. The men longed for a quiet glass of brandy and a study of the newspaper by the cold fireplace, the ladies chose to head out into the twilight for a wander along the river. Phryne weighed her options. She still felt strangely uncomfortable at the prospect of leaving Jack behind, but then she didn't think she could currently stomach the stench of cigars and the chatter of self-important menfolk. Truthfully she didn't feel like company at all. The red wine had turned her from out of sorts into exhausted and uncomfortable.

"I might retire," she announced. "It has been an awfully long day."

"It is barely 8 o'clock," Mac protested, looking at Jack in the hope that he could bring his wife back to sanity. Phryne going to bed in the early evening really was quite disturbing. But the Inspector nodded only for the time being and waited until the other people had returned to their own business before approaching his wife, touching her arm in the gentlest of grasps.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly, his eyes searching hers for any signs that would indicate otherwise. Phryne felt a warm feeling flow from her chest into her stomach, pooling there into a glimmering lake of emotion.

"I fear the wine wasn't my greatest choice," she explained. "I also got a headache coming on."

He nodded again, not fully convinced but willing to accept her explanation.

"Would you like me to join you?"

"That's not necessary," she smiled, truthfully wishing that he would read her mind and skip the brandy. But then he hadn't seen his father in about a month and Rupert for even longer and she felt it selfish to restrict his evening in order to satisfy her nonsensical dark feelings. "I am a big girl, Inspector."

"That you are," he grinned, kissing her on the nose.

"I'll warm the bed," she promised him in a quiet whisper before taking the stairs with swaying hips, feeling his eyes burn into her back.

A cool evening breeze swept through the thankfully open windows ballooning the half drawn curtains and she was grateful to have asked Jane for that small favour when heading upstairs. When she knocked against the connecting door to her daughter's bedroom, she didn't receive any answer and Phryne's heart sped up in by now familiar anxiety. Gently she pushed the handle down and to her relief found a pile of locks just barely sticking out from underneath the cover. How Jane managed to sleep with the duvet drawn up to her ears in this weather was beyond the Detective's imagination, but she stepped closer, watching the glimpses of a face she could make out underneath the cover. The girl was lost in peaceful dreams. Phryne stood quietly for a minute, listening to the calm breathing before picking the slipped novel from the floor and turning off the lights.

Back in her own room she locked the door behind herself tightly, just in case Jack should feel like using this warm summer night for entertainment that was not meant for Jane to burst into, and headed for the washing table. A flushed, tired face greeted her in the mirror, her black hair stuck up in an unruly manner as if it had decided to show the world how unsettled she was. Phryne smoothed it back with some annoyance before she went on to wash her face. Halfway through drying off, her eyes again fell into the mirror. Then she started in shock. It was gone!


	7. Chapter 6: His Sins Were Scarlet

**Good evening and apologies for the confusion my last sentence seems to have caused. It all made perfect sense in my head. **

**Chapter 6: His Sins Were Scarlet**

A red Hispano raced through the twilight where the dark silhouette of Hanging Rock appeared against the darkening sky. It was almost unreal in this light and Mrs. Robinson could think of plenty of places she had rather been. But her search in the hotel for the love red silk scarf she had donned this morning had turned out fruitless and now she could only hope that the wind hadn't taken it away somewhere along the road. Surely there was a chance that it may have slipped into some crevice during their walk? She parked the car, rushing towards the towering dark trees while fishing for the small flash light living in her handbag. Two kangaroos grazing on the open plain watched the strange woman thoughtfully before finding more interesting grasses.

The path was steeper than Phryne remembered and she ran out of breath quickly. Searching the ground in a combination of her light and the last retreating rays of sunlight, which were throwing long shadows across the landscape, she proceeded to climb higher. Her heart was racing in her chest like a trapped animal by the time she duck through a short tunnel, rocky walls seeming to close in on her. She almost screeched when her heel hit something soft. The light of the lamp showed the tiny body of a bird looking at her out of dead, black eyes.

Phryne squared her shoulders in an attempt to find her composure. She had faced dozens of murderers; stared down many a gun barrel from the wrong end; had survived the Great War – she would certainly not allow a spooky piece of rock to defeat her. So she pushed on until she reached the top of the small mountain, searching every corner and crevice. But there was not a glimpse of red silk to be found. Her heart sank. The scarf hadn't only been a favourite piece in her extensive wardrobe but first and foremost it was a Christmas present from Dot and as such completely irreplaceable. Phryne chewed on her bottom lip, staring up at the big moon as if it could answer her question. The sun sank finally behind the horizon, leaving her in darkness high above ground. Phryne shuddered. She would have to return in the morning, there was no point in looking any further. Carefully she made her way back between the glowering stone pillars. The way down was a lot quicker, not only due to having given up on illuminating every dark little corner but also because every fibre of her body seemed to be wanting to flee. When she had almost reached the car, a movement caught her eye. She flinched when the man rose from his crouching position, a hammer in hand.

"Good evening, Madam!" he called over. "Are you lost?"

Against her better judgement she stepped closer. The darkness revealed an Aboriginal man whose age she couldn't have guessed if her life depended on it. Now he grinned.

"Not a place you wanna stalk around alone at night. There aren't only spirits living in this land but also quite a few wild animals."

Phryne smiled thinly, feeling herself tremble. He was nice enough but her tense muscles still wanted to jump into the Hispano and race away, preferably straight back to Melbourne.

"I killed a copperhead right here the other day; big bastard," the man continued conversationally, barely disturbed by her silence.

"I was searching for something," she said weakly, in an effort at joining this conversation. Jalboo looked at her for a long moment.

"Wouldn't happen to be this, would it?" he asked, pulling something from his pocket. Stunned Phryne watched as the red scarf unfolded in his hand, gently waving in a night breeze. It took all of her composure to not snatch it from him with a yelp of relief. Instead she carefully reached out her hands taking it from the man tenderly like a lost treasure – which really it was.

"Where did you find it?" she asked after staring in silence at the red silk that seemed to glow in the dark.

The man nodded in a vague direction at a great tree raising against the sky not far away.

"I found it flapping in the branches," he explained, picking up his tools from the ground. "It seemed like an item that might be missed by someone."

Phryne nodded wordlessly, clutching the silk to her chest. He whistled into the darkness and a horse appeared out of nowhere. Mrs. Robinson couldn't pretend to be really surprised. The whole meeting seemed rather surreal.

"Thank you," she heard herself say quietly.

"I'll walk you to your car," he said, "it's on my way."

She didn't ask how he knew that it was her car and where it was parked. There was something in his dark, humorous eyes that told her he knew a lot more than he let on.

"Took some guts, coming here in darkness," he said conversationally when they reached the Hispano. "I know not a child from town that hasn't come up with some mischief between the rocks at some point or another. But at nighttime it is quite another matter. My people believe there are evil spirits living in the crevices."

Phryne cocked her head.

"But you don't?" she asked. The man shook his head, for a moment losing his smile.

"There are ghosts here, Miss Fisher. But I am not certain of their nature."

Phryne still pondered this when she reached the hotel. Only then it occurred to her that she had never introduced herself.

X

Dot looked up from her embroidery when she heard her son squeal upstairs.

"Don't worry yourself," the other woman in the room said, getting to her feet. Dorothy Collins looked after Nora Aberville retreating back in a mixture of longing and guilt. She was still getting used to not caring for her baby son herself at all times of day or night. But she had promised Hugh she would allow the nurse to take some weight from her shoulders and she didn't even like to think about the vows Mrs. Robinson had drawn from her when she had signed up the young woman for her services. Dot had never had a servant in her life and she had rather assumed it would stay that way. After all, a maid with a nurse was a slightly strange arrangement on paper. But then odd arrangements were something one had to get used to as part of Miss Fisher's family.

Sighing she picked up the needle again when little Tommy's screams rose in volume. He wasn't completely convinced of his new friend yet, but then she would have to give them some time to bond, Dot assumed. Despite that reasonable conclusion she had to fight down the urge to storm into the nursery and soothe him herself. After a minute she got to her feet and clattered around in the kitchen, washing a couple of teapots. Finally the crying settled down and a few minutes later Nora came back downstairs.

"He just needed a change," she answered the unasked question. Dot nodded, forcing herself to smile.

"May I set up some cocoa?" Nora asked.

"Of course," Dot answered, her hands still emerged in warm soapy water. She watched the nurse pour liquid into a saucepan, wondering how she had ended up with a stranger in her house who would insist on wanting cocoa on a hot summer evening. In fact she felt sweat dribbling down her back while she washed the dishes before finally drying her hands on her apron and raising her nose to sniff the air.

"Something's burning," she stated.

"Oh dear!"

The nurse jumped to her feet from where she had emerged herself into deep thought and raced to the stove. But Dot had already pulled the saucepan from the plate, burning herself in the progress.

"That was not terribly clever of me, was it?" Nora quipped. Dot bit her lip in an effort not to snap at her.

"You might want to wait a few minutes before washing the pot," she ground out between clenched teeth. "I'm going to head upstairs."

Little later she sat in her room, holding her washing bowl with soothingly cold water on her lap and wondered just how much help one could bear.

X

To Phryne's great surprise she found Jack anxiously pacing their hotel room when she stepped through the door.

"I believed you to be still wrapped in pipe smoke, Inspector" she smiled.

"I found myself rather tired and decided to take advantage of my pre-warmed bed," he quipped, "only to discover that my wife had disappeared."

He approached her, his eyes expressing the worry that he wouldn't admit to. Phryne smiled and produced the scarf from her handbag. The Inspector looked with some confusion at the bright object.

"It must have slipped from my neck during our afternoon excursion to the Rock. Dot would never forgive me if I hadn't retrieved it."

Jack closed his eyes, swallowing dryly.

"Would there be any point in expressing my concern about you climbing around on a mountain at nightfall, completely without informing anyone of your whereabouts?" he asked after a moment of silence. Phryne looked up at him with complete innocence.

"Not much," she answered honestly. It wasn't that she didn't understand his anxiety. Only that it had never occurred to her that she might slip on a steep slope and actually hurt herself. Mrs. Robinson as a rule didn't bother herself with those thoughts. There was a complete certainty in herself that she would be fine.

And truth be told, she would have rather cut her hand off than taken Jack back there at night time. The thought startled her and it must have shown on her face, as her husband cupped her cheek, his dark eyes thoroughly searching her face for any clues. Before he could manage to ask the question, she closed his lips with hers. She would tell him everything about her adventure on the rock, but right now it was still too raw. She feared she'd spiral back into panic if she'd sat down now and shared the details.

So instead she smiled, teasingly trailing a hand over his chest. Jack cocked his head at her sudden change of pace, but didn't protest. His breath caught moments later when red silk slipped over his eyes, leaving him in darkness. He could sense her stepping behind him, her hands going on a quest for his many buttons.

Of course, the Inspector wasn't oblivious to the fact that he was being distracted. But one of the first things he had learned about Phryne Fisher was that she didn't take kindly to being forced into anything, least of all into admitting to the fear that he had clearly spotted in her eyes.

An undeniably she possessed an amazing talent at creating a diversion that currently took his breath away. Her lips brushing his neck, he could barely manage to concentrate on her hands while her warm body was pressed into his back, separated still by too many layers. The sound of people walking down the hall caused Jack to bite his lip in an attempt at not groaning out his desperation for her touch when she peeled the clothes from his shoulders. Then all of the sudden she was gone, slipped away in the darkness behind his blindfold.

The Inspector held his breath as he waited, his fingers working, fighting the urge to remove the restrictive scarf that took his orientation from him.

His wife smiled where she was pulling back the sheets, admiring his naked chest heave in a mixture of barely suppressed arousal and anxiety.

"Phryne?" he whispered. The tone of his voice alarmed her. This wasn't a game he enjoyed! Nevertheless he didn't free himself, laying his complete trust in her. She closed the gap without a moment's thought, his gasp resounding in her stomach when she wrapped herself around him, snuggling against his warm chest. His arms came to hold her tightly, as if he had truly feared to lose her for an instant and it occurred to her that he sensed her dread and that it scared him in return. It shouldn't have been as great a shock as it was.

His mouth was hot with a subtle taste of brandy and Phryne lost herself in the kiss. Her desire had shifted into the need to please her Jack, connect with him. When she laid him down on the bed, his naked limbs poured out on the sheets, her heart sped up. She didn't bother to undress herself as she climbed on top of him, peppering small kisses over his chin and down his neck. He grasped for the head of the bed as if he needed to hold on to something to bind him to the world, his other hand blindly searching for her. Phryne's fingers locked with his, no thought going into this most natural of motions. She sensed the need to say something, whisper the depths of her love into his ear.

Yet words failed her and so she just placed a tender kiss on his lips while she joined their bodies. Jack arched his back at the sensation, his knuckles turning white where his fingers where wrapped around the wooden bed frame.

It was then that Phryne crumbled. She could feel a tear escaping her eyes and simply surrendered. Watching the proper Inspector Robinson unravel in her arms was never something she would tire of, but right now all she could see was his beauty and vulnerability. How did you protect a treasure as fragile as a human life?

She read it in the way his breath slowed, his arousal ebbed. Jack could tell that her mind was somewhere else and in a moment or two he would slip off his blindfold and decide that he needed to comfort her. She wouldn't allow that to happen. Not tonight.

"Hush," she murmured, leaning over him, trailing her thumb down his neck as she slowly moved her hips. With relief she felt his hands wandering underneath her blouse, lying warm and heavy in her lower back as his hips met hers with newly found vigour.

Jack had accepted her distraction with everything it brought, yet couldn't keep his heart from clenching in his chest at the tense muscles underneath his fingertips, the stiffness of her back, the hands that seemed unsure of what they were doing. It was so very much not Phryne to be uncertain and he didn't really know how to deal with it. The Inspector chose to play along for the time being. It seemed a better option than pushing her off in the middle of making love to draw a confession from her.

But he found it hard to again get absorbed in her touch despite all her efforts. Finally he pulled himself into a sitting position, clamping her against his heated body. There was a sound that reminded suspiciously of a sob, yet her movement didn't hitch for a moment. Leaning his cheek against hers, Jack found the final prove in his chain of evidence. She was crying.

His act melted away as he moved with her, every stroke and touch an attempt at comforting and soothing, of holding and reassuring. Jack didn't know what had brought this on, if it really could all still be about a few silly bruises, but it didn't matter. And with the minutes passing he stopped thinking about it, just felt her, tasted her skin, reveled in her touch. She was wonderful, a miracle he had never expected to happen to him and it was never as obvious as right now in the darkness behind the scarlet silk. He wouldn't allow anything to get between him and the experience of growing old and grey with her.

"I love you," he whispered into her ear, "you will never know just how much."

She hesitated at this and a moment later he felt her fingers in his hair, dim light blinding him as the knot was loosened and the silk slipped away. Blinking he searched her face as she bared herself to him. Her make-up had drawn dark streaks over her cheeks, her eyes were red-rimmed.

Despite, or possibly because of her dishevelment, he felt his heart race in his chest. Jack reached out both hands, framing her face with them and kissing her in a gentle, yet hungry manner. She seemed surprised but returned the favour, a faint reminder of their very first kiss and he couldn't help but smile into her mouth.

The spell broke.

Moments later he was clutching at her still buttoned blouse with returned passion while she grasped onto the bed frame for some gravity, moving against him with so much ardour that the bed squealed it's protest. Jack buried his fist into her hair, unable to let go of her scorching mouth. His body, now that the dark thoughts had slipped away, remembered the amount of time it had been teased and aroused. Where he'd feared he might never finish a few minutes ago, he suddenly found trouble hanging on for long enough to even rid Phryne of her clothing. She didn't mind. When her husband trembled with a last gasp, she just held him tightly, pressing her lips to his sweaty forehead.

He resurfaced with exhaustion painted across his features. The long day had finally taken its toll. They fell back into the soft, unfamiliar pillows without bothering to untangle themselves. Tightly wrapped around each other they drifted into sleep before any dark thoughts had an opportunity to settle back in.

X

Moonlight peeked through the dusty window, painting patterns on the straw. The old door made a painful noise when it swung inwards to let a dark figure creep into the hot night air which filled the stable to it's brim. Athena opened her eyes, shuffling unhappily in her box. For a moment the world held it's breath as the moon reflected in the blade of a knife. Then silence fell.


	8. Chapter 7: My Heart, Like A Sea

**Chapter 7: My Heart, Like A Sea**

She was wearing a nightdress. Why was beyond her, she didn't remember putting it on and it was certainly not the right attire for this place.

"There are ghosts living here," a friendly voice said beside her.

Phryne nodded.

"I'll take your word for it."

The rocks stretched out into the night sky. Carefully she approached a dark silhouette. A scarlet scarf flapped in the wind, along with an overcoat.

"Jack?" she whispered, "come away from the edge. It's a long fall."

"I am nowhere near the edge," the female voice protested. Phryne recoiled as the figure turned. A pair of dark eyes looked at her curiously from underneath Jack's hat, then the woman smiled. Phryne was certain that she had never made her acquaintance - yet she seemed vaguely familiar.

"Who are you?" she heard herself ask, turning on the spot. "Where is Jack?"

"Dead," she said, causing Phryne's heart to freeze. "I am dead," she added with a translucent smile.

"Thank you for clearing that up," the Lady-Detective stated dryly once she could breath again.

The girl dissolved in front of her eyes into nothingness. Phryne turned to the silent man who had stepped beside her.

"So, what now?" she asked.

"Look at the land," he said. She followed his eyes down to the plain where an impressive tree rose against the night sky. Red silk flapped from its branches.

"I don't understand," she said.

His smile was nothing short of enigmatic.

"It's time to ask the right questions, Miss Fisher."

With a start her eyes snapped open. It took a minute for her heartbeat to settle. Jack hadn't woken, which was surprising enough. He was a light sleeper.

'Dead', a voice said in her head, the dream still occupying most of the space in her mind. She shivered in the stuffy night air. Her blouse was glued to her back by a layer of sweat and she couldn't fight the need to rid herself of it.

When she attempted to remove Jacks arm, which lay like lead on her waist, she shrunk back. The skin under her hand was icy cold and clammy. Phryne felt panic rising in her throat while she searched for his pulse. It was reassuringly strong and steady, but her husband stirred under her hectic touch and she froze in an attempt to allow him to settle back into his dreams. Phryne waited several, endless minutes in suffocating silence before she made another attempt at escaping.

After she had finally stripped off her remaining clothes and drawn back the curtains to let air sweep into the room along with a gust of pale moonlight, she was starting to feel herself cool down. Jack sighed in a vivid dream, his hand reaching for her side of the mattress. Quietly Phryne returned to the bed, weaving her fingers through his. He instantly calmed.

"I will never allow anything to happen to you," she whispered an almost inaudible vow. Her stomach churned. She had failed in her quest in the past. Nothing could prevent her from letting him down again.

Phryne tried to get comfortable in bed, knowing that she wouldn't be getting back to sleep any time soon. The darkness was a lot thicker here than she was used to, but she could just about make out the shadow of a familiar scar on Jack's stomach where a bullet had shredded through his flesh some two years ago - when she had utterly failed. Tonight for the first time the mark scared her.

X

Grey dawn snuck into the open window, causing the young man to shiver in his sleep. The door swinging open woke him from unsettled dreams. Paws padded over the wooden floorboards and a wet snout pushed into his hand.

"What are ya doin' up here?" he mumbled into his pillow. Angus didn't seem inclined to answer the question, instead sitting down in front of the bed, staring his master down with a pair of amber eyes.

After a few moments Luke groaned, pulling himself upright.

"All right, I'll get up, you annoying bludger," he said in fond disgruntlement, patting the head of his dog. Then he yawned, stretching his tired limbs. "Shouldn't you be out with father?"

Angus followed him silently out into the hall and onto the veranda.

"Ahh, our sleepyhead has woken," Jalboo grinned over the rim of a cup of tea, a well deserved break after his first load of work. "That's what ya get for staying out late."

"I was working," Luke grumbled without any real annoyance, sitting down at the plate waiting for him.

"Where is mother?" he asked.

"It's Sunday," the farm hand reminded him calmly. Luke nodded. So helping out to get the church ready for the mass, as it was her habit.

"And before ya ask, Pete's with Doyle, showing him that lame lamb."

Luke nodded. He wasn't a great fan of the veterinarian, but he was undoubtedly an expert in his profession and they needed his help.

Foot rot was a highly contagious disease and if neglected it could spread through whole flocks. Luckily they had caught it early on. The question remained how many of the sheep were already infected, but either way they might have to slaughter the lamb if it didn't respond to treatment. He didn't like the thought, it seemed hardly fair.

"Ya're brooding again," Jalboo stated calmly.

"Right you are," Luke sighed. The farm worker was probably the only person in the world who would openly call him an idiot if he was being one. He had been a part of the family as long as Luke could remember. Of course the farmer was aware that his friend was a Wurunjeri but had never dared ask why he had left his people to live in a white community who obviously didn't respect him in the way he deserved. It didn't feel to Luke like he had any right to be curious.

"I had better take care of that hole in the fence today," he stated in an effort to change the subject. "I gather we were lucky that that ewe didn't get stuck."

Jalboo set down his empty cup.

"I'm ahead of you. Been out there last night. Had a very strange run-in with a Lady at the foot of the Rock."

Luke cocked his head and grinned.

"Was she pretty?"

"I believe she usually is," Jalboo quipped, finishing his last bite of bread. "Does the Honourable Phryne Fisher ring any bells for you?"

The young farmer's forehead creased in thought.

"Not that I could say."

"She's a Lady-Detective," Jalboo explained. "Locked up that corrupt Chief-Commissioner back in the day. You must remember that!"

Luke shrugged. He wasn't particularly interested in politics or crime for that matter. In difference to his friend who was fond of his newspapers.

"Instantly recognised her from the photograph," the older man stated, while pushing his chair back and brushing crumbs from his shirt. "But the conversation was a little spooky."

"I've never known you to be scared of ghosts," Luke quipped, absorbing himself in scraping the excess butter from his slice of bread.

"Only of women who look like they've seen one," Jalboo grinned, waving his goodbye and stalking off into the direction of the stable. Luke stayed behind, shaking his head. The people coming up from Melbourne for the race became ever the more strange by the year.

X

She had made breakfast, cleaned the washhouse and fed the chickens. Which meant it was time for her favourite part of the morning. Grace smiled as she approached the stable. 'Evening Wind' would be waiting for her, stomping his grey legs in anticipation of riding out over the morning fields. The other horses were a little more patient and they would have to be. Aidan had never left any doubt about his priorities. The Arabian stallion had been bought for racing, a decision that sunk an awful lot of money into a horse that was of terribly little use on their sheep station. Training him was, however, Grace's duty. She suspected that her husband was scared of the horses, not that he would ever admit to it. He would prefer to use his motorcar to riding any day and left the work that demanded horseback to the farmhand's and his wife.

Grace didn't mind being left with the task of taking care of 'Evening Wind' on top of all her other daily duties, but it did make her wonder why her husband insisted on winning the race if he didn't set a foot in the stable whenever he could manage to avoid it. The obvious explanation was to spite Luke.

With a sigh she opened the door. It screeched a loud complaint about the lack of oiling and she reminded herself for the billionth time that she needed to take care of the hinges. Morpheus, a colt with beautiful black coat broken only by some white spots on his belly and legs, whinnied impatiently.

"Sorry, love. I won't have much time for you today," Grace explained quietly, patting his neck. The horse looked at her with calm loathing while she proceeded further into the stables, past other boxes, where soft noses greeted her. All but one of them were working horses, used to the rough life out here. But today they seemed oddly unsettled. The strange smell hit her even before she realised that Athena was moving in a frenzy.

"What is it, girl?" the farmer's wife asked with some worry, then she turned and felt her knees weaken. Blood was pooling around her feet, soiling her boots. Grace did something she never did. She screamed.

X

She opened her eyes to the sound of water splashing. The straight razor glittered in the morning light as it scraped through the foam. Phryne pulled herself up, leaning against the headboard to watch her husband's shaving routine.

"Good morning," he said, without tearing his eyes from the mirror.

"It is," Phryne smiled, sorting through her limbs. She felt surprisingly well rested for having been drifting in and out of nightmares until the early hours. The birds were singing outside, the sun was shining and she couldn't shake the conclusions that she had been silly. A couple dreams and ghost stories had thrown her off her balance. But here was Jack, alive, well and currently hissing when his knife scraped over bruised skin that was turning a sickly shade of yellow and obviously sore.

"Let me give you a hand," she offered, swinging her legs out of the bed and wrestling the razor from his hands before he had a chance to protest.

"I am not certain if I should trust you with a knife near my throat, Miss Fisher," he joked, but settled into his chair to give her some room.

"I am quite harmless unless provoked," Phryne grinned, gently peeling the blade over his cheek. His grey eyes watched her in the mirror as she slowly removed stubbles and foam alike. For a while she worked in silence on her strangely intimate task.

A fleck of foam flying onto his naked chest threatened to distract her, but Phryne remembered just in time that she was holding a very sharp piece of equipment in her hand and controlled any erotic urges to concentrate on shaving the curve of Jack's neck. It was rather hard to catch all the hair down here and she bit her lip in tension.

The scream cutting through the morning air caused her to flinch. A sharp hiss sounded into the returning silence as Jack's fingers felt for the small wound the knife had left in a startled hand. Phryne stared with unconcealed shock at the drop of blood trailing down his neck.

"That sounded like Hazel," the Inspector pointed out, already on his feet and hurrying towards the hall. When he turned to hold the door open for her, he found Phryne still standing in the middle of the room, staring at the blood smeared shaving knife in her hand. She raised her blue eyes at him with an expression that compelled him to return to her side. He arrived just in time to catch her as her legs gave way and the world sank into nothingness.

X

"You have a way of drawing attention," a female voice quipped. Phryne's lashes fluttered as she tried to comprehend what had happened.

"Jack?" she asked, rushing to a sitting position, which turned out to be a mistake. Her head was spinning. Mac pushed her gently back down.

"I've sent him for some water," the doctor explained calmly, sitting down at the edge of the bed. "While the rest of the family is distracted by chasing a huntsman through our room which made the unfortunate mistake of sleeping on Hazel's pillow," she added in consideration of Phryne's embarrassment, which would settle in any minute now. Her friend nodded slowly.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Mac asked when the Lady-Detective stayed uncharacteristically silent. "I've seen you up to your elbow in the intestines of dying men but you've never fainted before."

Phryne shrugged.

"I don't remember," she fibbed.

"Either you are lying or I need to inspect you for any head injuries," the Doctor grinned. Phryne frowned but stayed silent. With a sigh Mac got up.

"Suit yourself then."

The Inspector returned a moment later, unable to hide his relief at finding his wife awake. Mac decided to give them some privacy and he sat down, handing Phryne a glass of water that she drank greedily. Her eyes were glued to a tiny cut on his neck where a trickle of blood was drying.

"You were right," she said with a faint smile. "You shouldn't have trusted me with a knife near your throat."

He didn't answer, his finger restlessly stroking her wrist. Then his hand grasped hers with sudden vigour, marking him coming to a decision.

"Phryne, what is going on? And let me tell you right now that I will not accept any excuses."

She chewed on her lip. Jack usually left her plenty of room to do whatever she pleased. That he would put his foot down was rare and it showed just how much she had scared him.

"I've cut you," she said with a lopsided smile, trying to make him understand. He looked at her for a long moment, his grey eyes trying to decipher her meaning.

"During the time of our acquaintance I recall having been beaten, shot, stabbed and strangled and it never saw you losing consciousness."

She shrugged.

"I can't explain it," she said, avoiding his eyes.

"Try."

He gently forced her to look at him and in silence they stared at each other, Jack trying to read her mind.

"Please," he urged. It was her undoing. Before she knew it, she heard herself spill every single detail about her dreams; her visit to the rock; the dark feeling in her chest that stuck like glue. When she finally trailed off she was panting and Jack still completely silent. Of course, he couldn't comprehend it. In his world there was no such thing as ghosts. Or foreboding. Or any of the other nonsense. Jack didn't even believe much in a God, much less in any of this hocus-pocus. He was bound to think she was losing her mind.

Phryne swallowed down the bitter realisation as she watched the Inspector wordlessly getting to his feet.

"Are you feeling up for heading down to take breakfast?" he asked. She nodded, disappointed despite herself and with his assistance crawled onto the edge of the bed. "And then we'll forge a battle plan," he added while she buttoned up the blouse he'd handed her. She looked up in surprise.

"A plan for what exactly?"

"To find the reason for your dreams. Surely you are not intending to let this rest?"

She was speechless for a moment.

"You don't believe in ghosts," she reminded him pointedly. A tiny smile appeared on his lips.

"No, but I am a firm believer in your instincts," he said, kneeling down to slip a shoe onto her foot. "And if your mind tells you with such force that something is wrong in this place, then we had better figure out what it is."

Phryne found herself struggle with silly tears rising in her throat. He looked up at her, grinning before he touched her cheek.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

"I am," she whispered. And to her surprise, she was.


	9. Chapter 8: A Man's Manners

**Chapter 8: A Man's Manners**

"It's murder!" Aidan Harper yelled. "And it's your responsibility to investigate!"

"It's a _horse_!" the young policeman argued calmly.

"A decorated race horse."

"Hardly," the young man grumbled under his breath, forcing himself to smile. "But don't worry, I will do everything in my power to find the murderer of your precious 'Evening Wind'."

The sarcasm in the man's voice was barely disguised and Harper stomped away in frustration to where Grace stood, still pale.

"What does he think?" she asked, when her husband approached.

"Not much, as usual," he huffed, lighting himself a cigarette. "But we know who it was, don't we?"

"You don't think..." she trailed off. "Aidan, you don't seriously consider Luke?"

"And why wouldn't I?" he spat. "He told me two days ago that I had no chance of winning the race. Now I know what he meant! But he will pay for that, I promise you that much!"

He rushed off before his wife had a chance to protest. Grace shook her head in silence, pondering what to do. Just then Sergeant Ferguson approached, obviously not having missed the outburst.

"I'm sorry 'bout your horse, Grace," he said, shoving his hat back on his head. She nodded at him.

"Thank you, Geoff."

He wandered off towards his car when she turned.

"Could you do me a favour?" she called after him. "Will you take me into town, please?"

X

It was early and most of the visitors from the city still asleep when Phryne entered the dining room on Jack's arm. She still felt a little shaky, but realised with some relief that nobody but Mac looked at her worried upon their arrival. The Inspector didn't seem at all inclined to share her little moment of weakness with his family and she was more than grateful for his discretion. Instead he pulled the chair out for her with complete nonchalance and sat down beside her.

"So, who managed to slay the eight-legged dragon?" she asked in overt happiness.

"Jane was my knight in shining armour," Hazel smiled, sipping on her coffee.

"I've just set it outside," the girl protested. "The poor thing was more scared than you."

"I don't think that's possible," Mac quipped, receiving an annoyed glance from her lover.

"I'm surprised you missed the adventure," John stated calmly, rising an eyebrow at his son.

"We just weren't in any state to attend," Phryne smiled thinly, which wasn't exactly a lie.

A cough sounded from Mac's direction.

"I don't think I want to know," Rupert joked. Jack decided to leave them in the assumption that a lack of clothing had kept them from attending the spider hunt.

While spreading butter on his toast he realised that Iris had been exceptionally quiet throughout the whole exchange. Something was on her mind, it wasn't hard to tell for someone who had grown up with her. And judging from the way Rupert had his arm lying against the back of her chair as if he could comfort her through the wood, it also wasn't a secret to her husband. The Inspector couldn't help but wonder if he knew what the creases on Iris forehead were about. It was likely. Rupert was a good spouse, an attentive one. If he was completely honest, the Inspector considered him a better match than his predecessor.

Jack felt a little guilty at the thought. He had been fond of Christian, even been one of the groomsmen at their wedding - mostly because he had refused to accept the jokingly offered position as maid of honour. Jack also knew that the young, enthusiastic man had been a great loss to Iris and her family when he hadn't returned from the War. The fact that her husband lay in a shallow grave somewhere on the other side of the world had added to the pain. And for years it had appeared to Jack that, just like he himself, Iris would never recover from the wounds of the Great War. Until Rupert Walker had entered the picture.

The businessman hadn't exactly swept her off her feet. His courtship had been a slow one, marked by a so-called friendship, long walks and humorous conversations until hours when neither of them could honestly pretend any more that it was decent for an unmarried couple to sit together. So, eventually that had to be rectified.

And it had been - in a small ceremony at the local church, with only their families and closest friends attending. Jack had done his hardest to smile and not look too much at Rosie, who happened to be the Matron of Honour. Maybe that had been the reason he had excused himself from the wedding before even the cake had been cut. But possibly it was simple envy. Envy at a second chance, a new happiness, at the way Rupert had looked at her when Iris spoke her vows. Love.

It wasn't a bushfire this time, not the all-consuming love that she had shared with Christian. It was a quiet glow that connected her with a man who cared for her deeply and thoroughly. A simple knowledge that she belonged with him.

It stood in stark contrast to Jack's own cold bed, the empty breakfast table, the late nights at the Station with nobody waiting and the always polite answer to the questions after his wife and his family plans. Jack, in this very moment, when Iris had said 'yes' to her second chance, had known beyond the shadow of a doubt that he would never find happiness again. How very mistaken a man could be!

He was woken from his dark thoughts by Phryne nudging him gently. The awake part of his conscience announced that Miss Green, donning a rather bright blue dress that seemed a little out of place in Woodend, had asked him twice already for his wishes. He had to swallow down the memories before he was able to answer.

Phryne watched him with attentive eyes while he stumbled out an order. Miss Green smiled kindly and wrote down something in her little notebook.

"And some coffee to wake up?" she asked with a cheeky grin. Jack couldn't think of anything to counter that with.

"That'd be lovely," he answered weakly. He missed the scowl his father sent the waitress.

"Maybe you should reconsider your nightly entertainment," Hazel quipped. "You are growing old."

Jack shot her a menacing glance and turned to Phryne, surprised at her lack of input on the matter. He found her staring at the picture she had already noticed last night.

"Miss Green?" she waved the older woman over, who was now carrying a pot of coffee. "Who did you say the young woman was?"

"It's Evie Harper. Mind you that picture was taken about 35 years ago."

"Is she still living around here?" Phryne asked breathlessly, searching for Jack's eyes. The table had fallen silent. Miss Green looked a little confused, but she set down the pot and shook her head.

"As a matter of fact, she disappeared. Many years ago."

Jack took Phryne's hand, asking her silently what was the matter. But suddenly she smiled.

"Thank you. I was curious about her. Evie Harper you say?"

Now obviously at a loss the waitress confirmed that.

"Related to the Harper we saw in the street yesterday by any chance?" John asked. "A rather angry young man?" All eyes flew back to Miss Green.

"Aidan Harper is her son," she explained, "and he isn't known for his gentle temper around here."

A hint of sadness wasn't missed by Jack's attentive eyes.

"He was still a babe in arms when Evie's done a runner. Has inherited a big sheep station from his father about a decade ago. Very savvy businessman, but never recovered fully from his moth-"

She didn't get any further, as a young woman in rustic clothing burst through the door.

"Mia, I need to talk to you!" Grace gasped without paying any attention to the guests. "Now. Please."

She pulled the waitress away from the group and they hectically started whispering in a corner. Phryne's eyes returned to the picture on the wall.

"Why the sudden interest?" Jack asked quietly when chatter around the table picked up again.

"She was the woman in my dream," Phryne whispered. "The _dead _woman!"

His eyebrows rose in surprise. She could see the wheels in his head turning.

"You have been looking at the picture yesterday," he mused.

Phryne bit her lip. That was of course a completely rational explanation. But her gut was churning.

"How was I to know that she had disappeared?" she whispered. "It wasn't mentioned.

Jack tilted his head.

"Just possibly you might be attracting murder like a magnet," he grinned.

It was the end of their quiet conversation as Mia Green returned with Grace following reluctantly behind.

"Inspector, Mrs. Robinson, I have a favour to ask," she stated firmly. "It might spoil your holiday."

X

Silence woke her. It was a rather strange phenomena these days. Dot shook off the sheet and pulled herself to the edge of the bed. She couldn't even remember Hugh leaving for work, which was odd also. Mostly she rose early enough to make sure he didn't oversleep or leave without breakfast.

But most disturbing was that she couldn't hear any sound from the nursery at all. She snuck to the door and listened but no, not a murmur.

In fact, all rooms upstairs were completely devoid of human beings, Miss Aberville's room as usual a complete mess, but that was currently not Dot's greatest concern. A sound downstairs drew her into the kitchen, where she, instead of the nurse found the bent back of Mr. Butler.

"Ahh, Dorothy" he said, pulling himself upright from where he had been stuck with his head in the kitchen cabinet. "I trust you slept well."

"Very much so. But I am wondering where Tommy is."

Mr. Butler smiled.

"I believe Miss Aberville has taken him to the park to feed ducks. Even though your son seems a little small for such entertainment."

Dot chewed on her lip.

"I guess if she enjoys it there is little reason to protest," she stated.

"Indeed."

He gently closed a cabinet door.

"I apologize for intruding in your kitchen, but I realised I am missing the antique silver sugar caster Mrs. Stanley has presented her niece with for her birthday and remembered bringing it over the other week."

Dot nodded smiling. She could hardly imagine Tobias Butler riffling through her cabinets without a good reason, despite practically sharing a household.

"I wouldn't want to draw Mrs. Stanley's wrath on us," she grinned, heading for the cabinet where she dimly remembered storing the expensive piece after having used it's contents for topping her shortbread. She shifted some cups, then her fingers got a little more hasty in their movements. She shook her head.

"I can't seem to find it," she said. "I am almost certain I put it in here."

She turned, chewed some more on her lips, which already showed a rosy colour from the mistreatment.

"Maybe with the teapots?"

But she also came empty searching the other cabinet. She shook her head.

„I don't understand," she said, now seriously anxious. Mr. Butler smiled.

"Don't worry yourself. I'm sure it will make a reappearance," he soothed gently. "Now, I am on my way to the market. Was there anything you needed?" he asked before she could slip back into spinning thoughts.

"Apples," she answered automatically.

Dot waited until Mr. Butler had left before she started clattering through her pots again. It had to be somewhere!

X

„I don't know what happened that caused them to hate each other, they didn't use to," Grace panted, in the middle of a flood of words that was pouring over the Robinsons. "But no matter how much Luke dislikes him, he would never lay hands on a horse just to win the race. It's impossible!"

Behind her, a soothing hand on the younger woman's shoulder, Miss Green nodded.

Jack looked from one to the other.

"Surely the local police can take care of this?"

Grace Harper tore her eyes from the tabletop.

"To be perfectly honest, Inspector, my husband doesn't make many friends. He is... a little rough around the edges, if you so will."

"So, what you are saying is that your Sergeant is biased?" John asked from the back.

"Geoff thinks him ridiculous for even bothering him with a dead horse. And I understand his point. A farm animal's death is a usual occurrence, it's a rough business. But 'Evening Wind' wasn't any old horse."

"I trust it cost a fair amount of money?" Mac asked.

Grace nodded.

"And years of training. But all of that isn't much of a worry to me. Aidan took out insurance for him years ago, it won't be much of a financial loss to us. But I am terrified that his temper will cause a war with the O'Neills."

She paused for a moment, wondering if she should admit to what was on her mind.

"And I would rather like to know myself what scoundrel takes out their revenge on an innocent horse," she growled quietly.

Phryne looked around the table, finding faces ranging from confusion to disgust and finally stopped at Jane's, who nodded forcefully.

„We'll find him," she said after a pause, turning her eyes at Jack as if to get his consent after she had already spoken. He squeezed her hand under the table. In truth the Inspector was rather glad. He preferred a real body, even a horse's, to hunting ghosts any day.


	10. Chapter 9: Blood Will Have Blood

**Apologies for the missed post, the universe decided on a perfect birthday-present for me: a 13 hour day working around a building site, while suffering a nasty cold. After that I felt incapable of anything but lying on the couch wheezing. So, with a day's delay, here is the next chapter. I hope you are enjoying this little tale. **

**Chapter 9: Blood Will Have Blood **

The stench reached them as soon as they entered the stable. Jack held his breath in an effort to shut out the smell. He disliked blood, the colour, the look and especially the taste. Right now it seemed to be crawling through his nose right into his mouth. He realised that Phryne had already barged forward. She seemed to have completely forgotten about her ghosts and Jack could honestly not say that he minded. Her ashen face just before she'd collapsed still sent chills down his spine.

Following her into the gloomy stable he finally reached 'Evening Wind's' box. Grace's description barely did it justice. The horse's grey coat was encrusted in blood, the floor drenched, the walls splattered. The eyes were rolled up, showing only white. But none of it was a gruesome as the nasty cut in his throat, half severing the head from the body. The smell was overwhelming here. Jack felt he might be sick. Swallowing hard, he took off his hat and crouched down beside his wife.

"The cause of death seems quite obvious," she said. "While I don't know terribly much about horses, I believe they need blood in order to live."

"Well spotted, Miss Fisher," Jack quipped, "but I do wonder how one would get close enough to such a beast without being attacked."

"Quite a knife," Phryne stated without answering his question. She wasn't wrong. The cut was deep and beside causing the Inspector's stomach to heave, it also made him wonder what kind of weapon could inflict such a wound.

"It looks almost like he was slaughtered and bled," Jack concluded quietly, aware that Grace Harper was still hovering in the background.

"Well in a farmer's community that restricts our circle of suspect to only about half of the population," Phryne grinned, picking up something from the floor. The horse's blood left her white gloves stained.

"What is it?" Jack asked, moving closer. He felt his father join them, but didn't turn to look at John.

"It appears to be a sort of buckle," Phryne said, holding the blood covered metal against the light.

"Hardly would fit on a belt though," John grumbled, holding out a crumpled envelope. It looked more like an empty letter case than an evidence bag, which considering that he had been retired for years was a much more obvious conclusion.

"Maybe some sort of adornment?" Jack asked. "From a dress or shirt?"

They turned to Grace, who was leaning pale against a box door, caressed on the shoulder by Athena's soft muzzle. She shook her head.

"I don't recognize it."

Her voice was shaking and she looked faint. Jack traded a look with Miss Green.

"Come, you'll feel better for some fresh air," she said, taking Grace gently by the arm. The farmer's wife didn't protest and the door falling shut marked the Detectives being alone.

"It's rather considerate of the killer to leave us a souvenir," Phryne quipped, dropping the buckle into John's envelope and care.

"I take it, you don't believe in so much politeness?" her father-in-law asked her, storing the evidence away.

"Murderers are hardly ever so friendly as to lead us straight to them by a trail of breadcrumbs," Jack sighed, pulling himself to his feet then reaching out his hand to help up Phryne. "And how would a horse rip a clasp from a piece of clothing in the struggle?"

"Are you saying that it has been planted?" John asked, stretching his own legs.

"It's a possibility."

"If so, we should find out who our killer wants us to believe slaughtered that poor horse," Phryne pointed out, taking Jack's arm.

When they stepped out of the stable they burst into a heated, if whispered discussion between the two women. They trailed off immediately. John glared at them for a moment.

"Was there anything you would like to share?" he asked coldly, fixating Miss Green. She seemed annoyingly little intimidated by him.

"Not that I am aware of," she answered with so much sweetness that he felt his teeth might rot. "Other than that my attendance will be required at the hotel soon if you wish your beds to be made."

John grumbled something under his breath but stepped past her to open the car door for her. She turned, giving her friend another hug and whispering something into her ear before graciously accepting his offer.

"Too kind," she smiled when he slammed the door shut and climbed in on the other side. Phryne and Jack shared a look. John Robinson wasn't famous for his gentle temper but being this uncivilised towards a fresh acquaintance seemed odd, even for him. The Inspector made a mental note to have a little chat with his father later. He felt Phryne fumble for his wristwatch when he pulled out onto the road. While her touch was far from unwelcome, the fact that she was still wearing bloodstained gloves caused him to shudder and also wonder if she was as composed as she seemed. It was odd for her to forget about something like this.

He left the Harper's sheep station and their unusual murder victim behind with mixed feelings. There were still people to question and he wouldn't have minded to talk to the Master of the House, but it was almost ten o'clock and he had promised Jane to be back within an hour. Even though Miss Fisher could seemingly never manage to suffer a holiday without a murder, at least this time they would attempt on not letting the investigation spoil everybody's day. Rupert had proposed a visit to a nearby vineyard and Hazel was keen on the cute little boats she had spotted on the dam near Hanging Rock. After the stuffy stable filled with the metallic smell of blood and the ghostly appearance of the horse's cadaver, Jack found he was rather looking forward to some time out in the beautiful countryside of the Macedon Ranges, not occupying himself with death and destruction for a change. And a good drop of wine wouldn't hurt his mood either. Phryne was still looking pale when he helped her out of the car in front of the hotel. She could also certainly do with the distraction.

Despite his resolve to let her fainting spell rest, it gnawed on him. He had seen Miss Fisher unconscious on occasion but it usually took either drugs or physical harm to accomplish that. In fact he remembered vividly the very first time when he had flung himself at her, slamming her head into the floorboards and knocking her out for a few brief, scary seconds. Of course there had been a very good reason in the shape of a falling sandbag which might have killed her if it hadn't been for his impolite act of sweeping her off her feet. But it had been hard to remember that between the sensation of her warm body underneath him and her perfume in his nose. Despite all that, even those brief moments had scared the life out of him. Phryne was not a born damsel-in-distress and the more frightening it was whenever he witnessed her rare spells of weakness and fragility. It made him want to stop the world and wrap himself around her for protection. She wouldn't appreciate those notions.

"Jack?"

The Inspector resurfaced from his thoughts to realise that he was standing in front of a door with the No 13 in peeling gold and Phryne staring at him in a mixture of confusion and worry. He cleared his throat while fumbling for the key. His wife watched him out of tired eyes. She longed to dispose of her bloodstained clothes and a distraction from both, the horse murder and the stinging dread filling her chest. Mrs. Robinson had rather hoped that a case might divert her thoughts from the nonsense occupying her head, yet the gruesome scene in the stable had twisted her already upset stomach into a knot. And Jack's uncharacteristic absence of mind added to her anxiety. Phryne made a decision.

After he had finally managed to unlock the door, she brushed past him with a painted on smile and after disposing of her street clothes in a trail across the room, plonked herself down onto the bed, leaning onto her elbows.

"Aren't you going to take off your trousers, Inspector?"

He looked rather startled, obviously still absorbed in his thoughts and she grinned, this time more genuine. Even after all this time she still enjoyed throwing him off balance.

"You have got blood on your pants, Jack."

He looked down where indeed, the bottom of the grey fabric showed a thin line saturated with Evening Wind's bodily fluids. He suppressed a shudder.

"Would you like me to give you a hand?" she asked from the bed, her voice soft and sultry. Jack felt himself flush in embarrassment, which seemed an odd reaction to his wife aiming double entendres at him.

"Thank you, I think I am capable of undressing myself, Miss Fisher," he said before she could follow through and made a show of turning towards the cabinet.

"As you please," she quipped. He could feel her eyes on him but chose to ignore her while he flung his coat onto a chair and started unbuttoning his sweaty shirt. By the time he had fished a fresh pair of trousers from the stack, he was getting uncomfortable with her silence. She didn't seem in the least inclined to chatter nor take advantage of his state of half-dress, which was certainly unusual.

"Drop it," she said beside his ear, startling him. Jack wasn't exactly intending to obey, the fabric slipped from his grasp before he had caught himself. His breath was heavy, less with arousal and more with shock about her sudden appearance.

That changed a moment later when her hand slipped into his unbuttoned pants and found their goal without any hesitance. With a groan Jack's head fell back against her shoulder.

"We are expected downstairs," he managed to grind out before his senses got flooded with the force of her attentions.

"We had better be quick then," she whispered.

While one of her hands stayed buried in his trousers, finding an intoxicating rhythm the other was kneading his nipples in a way she had proven before would easily drive him to insanity. Jack had to steady himself against the cool oak of the cabinet door in order to stay upright.

There was something almost violent about the way she drove his body closer towards the edge with every touch.

With a start her intentions became clear: she was not merely trying to distract him, she was making amends for her strange behaviour. With a grip so tight that he heard her surprised hiss in his ear, Jack peeled her finger's from himself and spun in her arms. His body protested, but he paid no mind to it.

"Don't," he whispered roughly, when she attempted to return to her doings. "Please don't."

She stood too close for his arousal to cool, but there were tears shimmering in her eyes that didn't belong there and he leaned in to kiss them away. Her lids fluttered shut underneath his lips. He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her tightly. Phryne melted against him, her intention of driving him to a quick, violent orgasm dissolving into his embrace.

A harsh knock to the door caused them to jump.

"I don't know what you are doing in there, nor do I wish to know. But please remember that you are not on your honeymoon," Mac called through the wooden wall separating them. "We are waiting for you."

"We'll be down in a minute," the Inspector called, unable to suppress a grin. Phryne gave him an unsteady smile, reluctantly retreating from his arms.

They got changed in silence, Jack aching with unsatisfied lust, Phryne confused about his reluctance to let her please him. When she opened the door, ready to leave, she found his hand grasping her wrist, much gentler this time and holding her back. He seemed to battle with himself for a moment, then he leaned down to whisper into your ear.

"I doubt I'll ever stop quivering in desire at your touch, but there is no need for apologies."

He pressed a gentle kiss to her hand and was out the door before she had sorted her thoughts on the matter. So he knew. The realisation filled the emptiness his refusal had left in her chest with a warm, fuzzy feeling and the near irresistible urge to pull him back into the room and make love to him properly.

X

"Why?" he heard her ask, making him flinch but not compelling him to turn around. The lamb who he had just inspected, baaed in confusion.

"You are speaking in riddles," Luke pointed out.

"Why did you do it?"

She sounded close to tears now and he abandoned the animal to pay attention to his friend, leaning pale and upset in the door. He slowly shook his head, watched her eyes fall onto his hands.

"Is he right? Were you so envious that you couldn't just try and win fairly?" she asked again, tears filling her voice. "I would have never thought you capable!"

"I don't understand what you are talking about," Luke spat, now torn between anger and frustration and God knew, feelings that he didn't want to address while he looked at Grace Harper, wrapped in a mixture of sadness and fury.

"Don't play with me!" she said, her voice suddenly cold. "I know. I won't tell the police and I certainly won't tell Aidan. But we are through, Luke."

"Grace!"

He tried to grasp for her arm, but she brushed him off.

"An innocent horse! What is it going to take for you two fools to come to your senses before you bring us all down?!" she yelled. Luke glittered at her angrily as he finally caught on, opened his mouth to defend himself. But her next question knocked the wind out of his argument.

"Why on earth do you hate him so much?"

He retreated, barely visible.

"Tell me!"

The young farmer bit his lip, stayed silent. She nodded grimly.

"That's what I thought."

She slammed the door shut in his face and through the dusty window he watched her hurry back towards the waiting Athena. Luke kicked against a metal bucket which fell over with satisfyingly loud 'clunk'. The deep cut in his hand was throbbing in sympathy as he continued his work on the sick lamb. It looked at the angry man with huge, black eyes, scared to even make a sound.


	11. Chapter 10: When The Wind Was Green

**Chapter 10: ****When The Wind Was Green**

The hills rolled into the distance, covered in the rows of green vine hanging heavy with grapes. Phryne sipped on her glass and felt her peace return to her. The thumb currently drawing a line along her spine in the subtlest of gestures was incredibly soothing, particularly mixed with the cool liquid tickling down her throat. In the distance she watched John wandering down the fresh green rows with Hazel on his arm and Jane walking backwards in front of them, seemingly sharing a story. Her daughter was positively glowing when her Grumps actually burst into laughter, which was a rare sight.

Mac had settled on a bench with a glass of wine, generally a tell-tale sign of her having reached the amount of company she enjoyed. The voice of two men were carried over by a gentle breeze. While Phryne couldn't see the owners, she was quite certain that Rupert had found an interesting subject to discuss with the owner of the vineyard, a man the shape of a wardrobe by the name of Steve Vos. Only Iris was nowhere to be spotted.

"Is your cousin all right?" Phryne asked the Inspector, who had turned his face up to the sun.

"Which one?" he hummed without opening his eyes.

„Iris. She seems a little..."

Phryne searched her brain for the right word.

"Secretive?" Jack asked calmly.

His wife had to admit grumpily that she couldn't come up with anything better.

"Something along those lines."

He shrugged, secretly glad that Phryne hadn't lost her touch in between her spells of uncharacteristic self-doubt and fear.

"I'm sure she will figure it out," he said. "Whatever it is."

"You're not even going to ask?" she inquired, somewhat surprised but satisfied when he finally drew his attention away from the summer sky.

"She will tell me if she thinks it right to do so," was his highly unsatisfactory answer. Phryne huffed, but snuggled into his shoulder all the same. Jack grinned at her barely hidden curiosity and pulled her closer. He had been right, this place and a good drop of wine had lightened the mood to a great degree.

„It's incredibly peaceful here," he said quietly.

"Not much longer, mate."

He started at the rough voice right beside his ear and looked up to find that the winegrower had joined them.

"Why would you say that?" Jack heard Phryne ask. There was at least something she would get answers to today, she'd decided. The man seemed surprised at her lack of knowledge.

"They're building a train line, aren't they? Right through my vineyard. At least when it goes after Harper's will."

The Inspector's ears pricked at that.

"Aidan Harper?" he asked.

"Ya know 'im?" the winegrower asked. "Thought ya're from Melbourne?"

"We have visited his sheep station this morning," Phryne explained quickly. It wasn't a lie exactly.

"Well then ya know that he doesn't give much of a toss about anythin' but his own interest."

The Detectives looked at each other.

"We might have heard of that," Jack stated politely. "So, is it likely that the line will be built after his plans?"

Vos shrugged.

"There's a whole bunch of them battling it out amongst themselves. Not like we get any say in it. But there's a handful of plans. The old Ferguson would like it one way, Packard's firmly against that and the O'Neill's don't want no new train line at all."

Jack recognized another couple of names and sorted this away for later investigation.

"And Harper?"

"He's tryin' to have it his way. Rumour says he's goin' to build a new Station in Newham and leave Woodend hangin' out to dry."

"I am assuming the people there aren't happy with his plans?" Phryne asked.

"Nah, but he could sell land, couldn't he?"

"A very considerate man," she mumbled under her breath. But what could a murdered horse have to do with this? Was someone trying to intimidate the farmer?

"Thank you, Mr. Vos. That's highly interesting," the Inspector stated calmly.

"Yeah, sure it is to you. For me it's a pain in the backside," the Winegrower grumbled and disappeared as fast as he had come.

"Not quite as peaceful a little town as expected," Phryne stated casually, when he was out of earshot. The Inspector smiled across the tranquil fields.

"So just the kind you like, Miss Fisher."

X

"Ahh, Mrs. Collins, I didn't expect you to be awake just yet."

Dot spun from where she had been dusting her parlour – a task she despised – to look into the friendly face of Tommy's nursemaid. She wanted to ask what that was supposed to mean but managed to swallow down any snappy questions just in time.

"It is almost half past ten," she said instead stiffly.

"Oh, it is too. I must have forgotten the time," Nora Aberville smiled. She kept babbling on about the ducks at the park and having met her friend. Dot listened politely, her hand around the duster turning tighter.

"Is Tommy asleep?" she finally asked with a tense smile.

"He's still in the pram," Nora explained. Dorothy pushed past her into the hall, where her son was indeed fast asleep, smiling. Obviously he had enjoyed the trip to the park just as much as his nanny. Either that or it had bored him enough to escape to his dream world. Dot shook her head at herself. Tommy seemed to like Nora. While he still preferred his mother to any other human being, she had caused him to aim a toothless smile at her after only five minutes in her arms and that had ended the search for a nurse. It wasn't as such that she didn't like Miss Aberville, Dot thought to herself. She was nice. Just a tiny bit strange maybe. A crash from the parlour and some barely suppressed swearwords reminded her that the girl was also incredibly clumsy.

"She is a little special, isn't she?" she whispered to Tommy, who was pulling a face at the noise. Gently she took the little boy from his pillow to bring him upstairs and frowned in surprise when her hand brushed something cold. And her surprise only rose when she discovered what was hiding in the blankets. A slim silver necklace sparkled in the dim light.

X

The splash of water hit Mac unprepared.

"That was a bloody unfair manoeuvre," she yelled, slapping the water surface with the paddle and drenching her lover.

„Would you mind?" Jack called over from another boat, shaking droplets from his coat.

"Oh, don't be a spoilsport, it's just a little water," Phryne scolded him happily. The grin she received, combined with raised eyebrows could have caused glaciers to melt. She felt her heart flutter in her chest. If they hadn't been surrounded by family, she might have considered doing completely inappropriate things to Jack in their tiny rowing boat.

Instead she stretched out her stocking-clad toes and slipped up his trouser leg to the point where she could discover the slightest bit of skin above his socks. He tilted his head with a warning expression and she smirked a red-lipped smirk.

"You might want to watch your behaviour here, Miss Fisher," he added for good measure with a glance at his father, who, all gentleman, let Jane row.

"I am being terribly good, Jack," Phryne protested and retreated with a last stroke over his skin. It really wasn't a particular erotic gesture, just a little contact.

"Miracles never cease to happen," he quipped, his eyes firmly glued to hers with that tiny boyish grin that made her want to show him just how bad she could be. He continued rowing them somewhat further away from the other boats as Phryne watched his muscles move underneath the thin wool of his suit.

She could tell the signs these days. The way he held himself when he was battling with unsatisfied lust. It had been an intense study over the last few years and a frustrating one at times. The knowledge that he was overflowing with passion for her and yet, wouldn't overstep the line in the sand which he himself had drawn there – it had at times taken all her resolve to refrain from plundering him and damn the consequences.

But then she couldn't have. Jack had voiced his veto. Over and over and over again. Not with words, never with words, but with a gesture, a sudden withdrawal, a joke. And despite being well aware just how easily she could have broken his resistance, she never had. Because loving his body had seemed the most cruel thing to do before she was ready. Before he was ready.

In the end neither of them had been prepared for the impact of the first time they had ended up in her sheets.

The consequences, as expected, had been dire. Phryne had lost everything she believed in, her freedom, her heart and sometimes she thought, even her mind. And the most frightening fact about that was that she felt no regrets. Not a single one.

She looked up from her musing and found him watching her, questions written all through his features.

"I do love you," she said. "I fear I am not telling you often enough."

He nodded lightly, hiding his surprise.

"There is no need."

But his eyes had turned soft, dark and soft, like they did often when something crawled underneath his skin and touched his heart.

"I know." She smiled. "But there are many pleasures in life that are done completely in vain."

Wordlessly he stretched out his hand for her to join him. The tiny boat swayed dangerously as she balanced to the middle and slipped down beside him, his arms wrapping effortlessly around her, forming a cocoon for her.

"You are wet, Inspector," she complained, even though the water had all but dried in the summer sun by now.

He hummed his approval as she leaned against his shoulder, let her eyes sweep over the landscape. The rocks towered high above them, looking a lot less threatening from Jack's arms. She wondered briefly if he had been serious about investigating into her dreams. Where would one start hunting for a ghost?

Jack pressed a kiss to her temple before dipping his hand in the water and splaying her with a light rain of glittering drops.

"Now you are too, Miss Fisher."

"I don't think I am willing to comment on that."

He raised his eyebrows at her and she grasped his head into a deep kiss before he had a chance to protest. Whistling woke them from their trance.

"Would you care to not do that in my presence?" John asked from only a few metres away.

"Nobody invited you to watch," Jane grinned.

"Well, you decided to row over here, Young Lady," he scolded. His grey eyes were glittering in amusement and Phryne didn't believe his grumpy act for a moment. It still surprised her just how much his features reminded her of Jack's whenever he was smiling. Which happened a whole lot more often these days.

"She does have a point, Father," Jack grinned, but nevertheless released Phryne and fished for a paddle that was threatening to go overboard. When he returned to an upright position, Phryne was holding the second one, obviously unwilling to be chauffeured by him any longer.

"My turn, Inspector" she demanded, reaching out her hand.

"God help us if you row like you drive," he quipped, but obliged to her wishes. While he watched her find a rhythm with her paddles, he realised with some relief that a sparkle had returned to her eyes. Miss Fisher was plotting something. And it would most definitely give him grief. He was rather looking forward to it.

X

„Be careful there," Rupert called. Iris flashed him a smile, but did slow down a little for good measure as she climbed onto the rock. He caught up a moment later, breathing hard from the exertion and found her staring out into the landscape.

"Iris?" he asked after a long moment of silence.

"What is it?" she asked, the slightest of strain in her voice to the ear of someone who knew her very well. Feverishly he searched his brain for the right words.

"You seem to enjoy yourself," he finally said weakly. She turned to look at him with suspiciously shiny eyes.

"I love this place. It's so peaceful," she stated, sucking a deep breath into her lungs. Rupert nodded.

"I'm sure you're right."

He gently laid an arm around his wife as they looked out over the hills, sheep grazing under dead trees, green hills rising in the distance.

"Christian was really fond of this particular spot."

The complete, uncomfortable silence that met her from her side shook Iris from her memories. A confused spider crawled past their feet, hurrying into one of the crevices.

"My apologies. I guess it is of bad taste to bring this up with you," she said quietly, swallowing down a lump in her throat and opening her mouth to continue.

"You should know me better than that," he said quietly. "I am not concerned with taste, Iris. I'm just not certain if I wish to know."

He glanced at his face that was completely unreadable and closed her mouth.

"Fair enough," she whispered after a long moment.

His hand slipped from her back and she grasped for his fingers, wrapping them together. They stood for a long time, looking out into the peaceful land and following their own dark thoughts.


	12. Chapter 11: The Colour Of Nutmeg

**Good evening, Ladies. I know I am not particularly chatty at the moment, but I would like to thank everybody who has written a review (or several in some cases). It's lovely to hear your thoughts on the matter. Now, I'd better get going, Jack and Phryne have decided that they need another sexscene and it's hard to argue with that. Until tomorrow. **

**Chapter 11: The Colour Of Nutmeg**

"So, are you going to investigate the murder?" Jane asked, chewing on a grape.

"I'm not sure if this counts as appropriate lunch conversation," Mac quipped over the edge of her wine glass.

"Oh, poppycock. What could be more exciting than a murder with lunch?" Hazel laughed, leaning against her lover. Mac's serious facade found itself challenged.

"I will have you know that murder is serious business," Jack threw in with a small grin. Phryne watched him fondly as he chewed on his sandwich. The bruise was still ugly but the cuts were paling and he looked relaxed. As if he had read her thoughts he flashed her a smile.

"So, where exactly are we starting to investigate, Miss Fisher?" he asked.

She leaned back onto her elbows and crossed her feet at the ankles.

"I believe we should talk to this Luke O'Neill first," she stated.

"The young lady doesn't seem to think him responsible," John protested from the other side of the blanket.

"True. But I am rather curious about why she defends him so vehemently," Phryne grinned. "He must be quite a man."

Jack couldn't stop himself from smirking at her tone of voice. She might be his thoroughly faithful wife these days but he doubted that she would ever stop looking at a handsome man like a cat at a bowl of cream.

"After we have satisfied Phryne's curiosity we might try and talk to Aidan Harper," he added. "He is after all the owner of the horse in question."

"I might have a chat with this Sergeant," John stated thoughtfully, then looked up when he realised that he was being stared at.

"Now, don't look so surprised. I might be retired but I am still capable of a friendly talk."

"I'm not certain about the 'friendly'," Mac breathed, completely ignored by everyone.

"I'll come!" Jane exclaimed. Jack raised his eyebrows at his daughter, but stayed silent.

"You will do no such thing," Phryne said instead of her husband. "I believe we had a word about sleuthing after you barely escaped the last murderer."

Jane tried herself on a pout that seemed to have terribly little effect on either of her parents.

"And how often have you been facing killers?" she grumbled.

"Too many times and that's the very reason I wont let you anywhere near them," her mother explained sternly.

"That's hardly fair," Jane protested.

"I apologize for trying to keep you alive and well," Phryne stated with a smile, draining her glass.

Her daughter didn't answer, instead attacking a cake in visible annoyance. The group had watched the exchange with mixed feelings.

Jack couldn't help but remember their conversation two nights ago and another one, much further in the past. She'd had similar doubts then, unreasonable fears of ghosts and the Inspector had done his best to soothe them away – and almost gotten all three of them killed. Phryne had never mentioned his misstep with a word and Jack had all but forgotten about it himself in the aftermaths. There had been so many emotions attached to her final, desperate battle with Foyle, to the discovery of Janey's body and her attempt to move on from the death of her sister that it had only occurred to him days later that his own ignorance had brought this on them. And that Phryne wasn't scared of death the way she should be.

Jack glanced at his wife, who seemed to have shaken off her tense mood and was happily chattering with Hazel and Mac about some strange fashion trend sweeping over from Paris. The Inspector made a quiet vow to himself. He wouldn't repeat his mistake. Phryne might not be concerned much about dying, yet he certainly had no intention of ever living without her again. And while her fears may be unfounded, he wouldn't gamble their lives on it. The others were distracted by the return of Iris and Rupert and he used the chance to lean in and whisper something into his wife's ear. She seemed briefly surprised, but nodded with a smile when he retreated. So that was settled then, leaving him to concentrate his attention at the slice of chocolate cake that was thrust at him by a grumpy Jane and watching Hazel fed icing to her lover with little aim. Mac grumbled at her lips getting covered in chocolate, but was silenced with a rather daring smack to the mouth that had John spin into another rant at things he'd rather they would stop doing around him. Collective laughter answered him.

"I believe they are training for the race," Jane pointed out, looking at a small group of men currently mounting their horses.

"Shall we have a look then?" Phryne asked, already on her feet. "Our accused murderer might be amongst them," she explained towards Jack who was watching her, amusement written all over his face.

"Of course we couldn't pass up on the chance to get a first impression," he grinned, allowing himself to be helped up. Hazel decided to keep her sister and brother-in-law company, who had only just begun eating their lunch while the rest of them approached the men and their steeds. It was a colourful collection, both of owners and horses. Some were obviously farmers on the back of strong, broad horsebacks, who were as much used to the hard life out in the bush as they were. Others were gentlemen on slim, powerful steeds who had travelled out here only to join into the race. It was hard to say who was at an advantage, Phryne mused quietly. Maybe Aidan Harper had been right in his assumption that a fusion of both would have to breed a sure winner. Someone had ended his dream in a very cruel way. The gruesome death of the stallion still sent shivers down her spine. Surely no human could do this only to win a race, could they? But then she had seen murder for even pettier reasons and she wasn't here to take revenge for animal cruelty but to prevent an old feud from escalating.

Staring at the men who were currently assembling at the start line she wondered who of them, if anyone, was Luke O'Neill. A handsome man of dark hair and judging from his appearance, definitely living in the area, caught her eye. He must have been young, even though his beard concealed his true age. The female horse underneath him impatiently stomped with her hooves. Phryne dimly remembered her to be called Mary, the colour of her coat an unexciting shade of brown, yet with a shimmer to it that spoke of good care.

"The colour of nutmeg and the fire of ginger," Jack quoted calmly. Phryne wasn't even surprised that he had followed the same train of thought. Mary moved on the spot, anxious to start the race, when something disturbed the group. A horse flew closer in a cloud of dust. Both rider and filly were out of breath when they screeched to a halt between the men.

"You're not serious?" a rather rough looking man on a skinny horse, which seemed hardly strong enough to hold it's bully owner, exclaimed after a moment of confusion.

"That's Packard," Jane explained quietly to the Inspector. He nodded. The butcher looked just like he had expected.

"And why wouldn't I be?" Grace Harper asked, patting Athena on the neck and avoiding Luke's eyes, which had shadowed. "You didn't think that murdering 'Evening Wind' would keep us from racing, did you?"

It wasn't aimed at anyone in particular, yet O'Neill retreated to the other end of the line without so much as looking at her. Phryne found herself staring at him, now completely convinced that she had picked the right man from the crowd. Maybe she had been wrong in assuming that he hadn't killed the horse, there was definitely something defensive to him.

"So, _you_ are going to race?" another voice asked calmly. Whispers ran through the crowd.

"Obviously," Grace stated, lining up. The start shot fell a moment later, ending the conversation as a sea of hot bodies flew past the audience. With bated breath their eyes followed the retreating horses and riders around the track.

After a few hundred metres, three steeds split from the rest, charging ahead. Phryne grinned when she realised that one of them carried the only female jockey on the field. Grace Harper, who looked a rather ordinary woman on ground had turned into a stunning beauty on horseback, with her blonde hair flying in the wind. Hot on her heels was a dashing, quite literally as Phryne thought this, man in his 40ths, well-dressed on a beautiful stallion. Phryne dimly suspected she had seen him before in one of the races she'd attended. Possibly on the podium. The third was, not entirely unexpected, if she was honest, Luke O'Neill, his jawline clenched. Mary seemed to enjoy herself, as if she remembered the freedom of racing over the hills with her herd rather than following a racetrack with a man on her back. Behind them, yelling and shouting, Packard drove his poor mare forward with the help of a riding crop. It didn't make for a very picturesque scene and he also wasn't successful, slowly falling behind and being overtaken by the elderly gentleman who had spoken earlier and another professional jockey who Phryne was sure she recognised. She might have even flirted with him once. For some reason, her hand decided to grasp for Jack's and was relieved when she found his warm fingers right beside her.

Horses and riders flew past them again, wrapped in a dusty cloud, the Melbourne based jokey now up front ahead of both the farmer and his friend. Mrs. Robinson caught a glimpse of Grace Harper's face, her eyes blazing, her lip bitten in effort, as Athena rushed forward. A thought struck her. Athena, just like Mary had an aura of utter abandon to her, a careless playfulness which with she shot forward, overtaking her opponent easily. But O'Neill wasn't done yet. He caught up to both riders, charged half a lengths past the professional until he was eye to eye with his old friend. For a long moment it seemed like nobody was going to win the training race at all, then one filly broke ahead, just before they flew through the finish line. Out of breath the steeds slowed while behind them the men still battled out the last places. Sweat was slicking the horse's coats, Athena shaking her head and flinging some droplets at Packard who wiped his face with a curse.

"Well done, O'Neill," the elder man said, clapping the man on the back. "A nose's lengths that saved us from embarrassment."

To Jack's surprise, he got the brief impression that Luke just barely suppressed the urge to hit the other man. Instead his jaw clenched tighter and his eyes sought out Mrs. Harper, who was busy talking to her horse in quiet whisper. He brought Mary closer.

"You two were quite amazing," he said. Grace didn't turn her head.

"We intend to be even more amazing tomorrow," she answered stiffly. "Don't believe you have won just yet, O'Neill."

She rid off before he had a chance to answer, his face declaring war on the men who had come to congratulate him.

"I feel we have missed all the excitement," Iris said beside Phryne.

"I believe you have," the Lady-Detective answered truthfully. "But not all is lost. We are in for quite a race tomorrow."

X

An hour later the Hispano shot onto the yard of a sheep farm somewhat South of Newham. A chicken half ran, half fluttered away in angrily clucked protest. Phryne parked right in front of what she suspected was the door to the main house and turned off the motor. A moment later a man well in his 60ths left the stables, scowling at them angrily.

"I'd appreciate if ya didn't try to kill my stock," he yelled, while Phryne climbed from the car. She just simpered at him.

"I'll attempt to be mindful of that next time."

"We are looking for Mr. O'Neill," the Inspector explained calmly.

"That's me," the elder man stated, setting down a feeding bucket. "So whatya want?"

The Detectives shared a look.

"I believe he looked slightly different when we last saw him about an hour ago," Phryne smiled thinly.

"You don't have a son by any chance?"  
The man lost interest quickly.

"Luke's in the shed, God knows what he's doing in there, but I'd knock if I was you."

He wandered off without paying them any more mind. Jack sighed when he was out of ear shot.

"Another warm welcome," he quipped while they crossed the courtyard.

"Well, you do look like a thug, Jack," Phryne smiled, glancing at his fading injuries. "I'd be currently hiding my jewellery if you'd appeared on my doorstep."

"So that is what he ran off for?" Jack asked grinning. "To stash his riches somewhere safer?"

They both knew that they were joking. The small sheep station didn't look exactly like a hidden goldmine, even though it was tidy and the ginger cat currently stalking past them with it's tail straight up in the air, well fed. They found the crumbling garden shed behind a chicken coop, after sending some more poultry scrambling and knocked obediently against the door.

"Can I not for once...?"

The man in the door stopped mid-sentence and gaped at Phryne, who was smirking at him. The distinct lack of a shirt showed off his well-defined chest, drawing a frown from the Inspector.

"I hope we aren't interrupting anything?" he asked coldly.

"Nothing of interest," the farmer stated, opening the door further and returning into the small, hot room where he picked up a crumpled shirt flung over the back of a wooden chair.

"I've seen you at the race course" he stated casually, turning and finding Phryne still following his hands with glittering eyes as he buttoned up his shirt. "But I guess you're not here for an autograph?"

Jack cleared his throat loudly and Phryne turned, busying herself with other things than watching the man get dressed.

"Inspector Robinson from the Melbourne Police and my wife, who happens to be a Lady-Detective. Your friend Mrs. Harper has asked for our help."

The man dropped into a chair.

"Is this about her horse?" he asked quietly.

Jack nodded, removing his hat and slightly loosening his tie. It was hot enough in here to feel the urge to rip one's shirt off, he had to admit. His eyes were caught by a bandage wrapped around the farmer's hand.

"In fact it is. She fears this... incident could cause the tensions between your families to escalate."

A crease appeared between the farmer's brows.

"Since she is convinced it was my doing there is terribly little you could help, unless you intend to arrest me for the murder of a horse!"

"_Did_ you slaughter 'Evening Wind', Mr. O'Neill? Maybe to win the race? Or to take revenge?"

A fist came down on the table, sending a small knife flying along with some wood shavings.

"_No_, of course, I didn't! Why on earth would I kill Grace's horse? She _liked _that stupid stallion!"

"And you are rather fond of her?" Jack asked calmly, picking up a small wooden item that had tumbled in the outburst of anger.

"We are friends," Luke said, having found his composition again. "We were at least until this morning."

He pulled himself to his feet.

"Now she thinks I would go and kill an innocent animal for no reason other than a stupid race! Tell me what kind of friend would assume such a thing?"

Angrily he attempted to walk past Phryne, who during the conversation had stood quietly in the back, twisting a hat in her hands.

"One who noticed a piece of damning evidence at the crime scene?" she asked nonchalantly, handing the grey piece to the Inspector while the farmer stopped, gaping at her.

"She couldn't have! I haven't been to Harper's station in more than two weeks!" he exclaimed, looking like he was considering to hit something. Jack stared for a long moment at the hat.

"If that is the truth, Mr. O'Neill, someone went to great lengths to make us believe you were."

X

"Are you mad?" he asked behind her, making her flinch at the rage in his voice.

Grace turned only briefly before calmly continuing to rub down Athena. The horse took a nervous sidestep and Aidan retreated just as much as his masculinity allowed.

"No," his wife said in an even voice.

"_You_ raced _her_?!"

Grace shrugged.

"I did and we almost won," she stated, picking up the saddle to carry it out of the box. But her husband stood in her way, not letting her past.

"I will not see you make a fool of me, Grace, you hear me?!"

She took a step closer.

"So you intend on letting him get away with it then?" she asked, her eyes glittering.

Aidan swallowed.

"Who?" he asked.

"Luke? You just want to hand him the win on a silver platter?"

"I've spoken to the others. He will be disqualified," he stated coldly.

Grace laughed bitterly.

"You don't actually believe that," she said, "his father has been a member since before time."

Her husband squared his shoulders.

"We will see about that," he spat. "But you are not taking her to the race and that's that!"

The box door slammed shut behind him a moment later. Angrily Grace threw the saddle on the ground and uttered a small, frustrated scream. Athena looked at her with big brown eyes then took a step closer and rubbed her lips over the woman's ear. Grace wrinkled her nose in thought as she leaned against the wooden wall.

"What do we do now?" she asked. The horse didn't answer.


	13. Chapter 12: Suspicious Minds

**Chapter 12: Suspicious Minds**

Dot was still pacing the bedroom by the time the door opened and Hugh head shoved through.

"Here you are," he said, before continuing hopefully: "I thought you said something about ham sandwiches for lunch?"

His wife waved him urgently into the room and he obeyed.

"What is it, Dottie?" he asked, now confused, but instead of an answer a piece of jewellery was shoved into his hand. He inspected the silver chain with the little locket in the dim light.

"I found this in Tommy's pram," she explained in an excited tone of voice.

The Constable frowned.

"Well, if it's not yours, it must be Miss A-"

"It's not! I have never seen it on her. And open it!"

He hesitantly did as he was asked. Inside it was a picture of a young man he couldn't recall having ever made the acquaintance of. Dot wrung her hands. She was as aware as her husband that Nora Aberville didn't have a sweetheart.

"So where could it have come from?" Hugh asked weakly. Dorothy shrugged.

"Mrs. Robinson's silver shaker is also missing," she continued quietly, her voice tense with agitation. Hugh gaped at her.

"You are not implying that..."

"I am starting to think, Hugh, that we might have a thief under our roof," Dot said loudly, just to slap her palm in front of her mouth a moment later. "What other explanation is there?" she continued, whispering. Hugh slowly shook his head.

"I'll ask her," he said in sudden resolve.

"You can't," Dot protested, trying to take the necklace from his hands, but her husband was already on his way to the door. She followed him slowly over to the neighboring nursery, where Nora was currently changing little Tommy's sheets, quietly singing to the boy. It could have been a rather touching scene.

"Oh, Constable, I didn't hear you coming," she greeted, showing a row of white teeth separated by a small gap. Hugh's enthusiasm deflated at her open friendliness.

"Good afternoon, Miss Aberville," he greeted her, hiding the necklace in his balled up hand. "Is he all right?"

"Perfectly," the young woman smiled, looking fondly down at the baby boy.

Hugh retreated but was stopped by Dot, who nudged him gently back towards their nurse. He cleared his throat, fiddling with his collar.

"Miss Aberville?"

"Yes?"

She turned.

"My wife found this in the pram's pillows," Hugh said with all the calmness he could muster. "Do you have an idea how it got there?"

Creases appeared on the pretty face as she stretched out her hand to let him drop the piece of jewellery into her palm. Then she shook her head.

"I have not the faintest idea," she said after a moment. "In the pram you say?"

"This morning, when you returned from the park," Dot added helpfully, if a little snappy.

"How very peculiar," Nora smiled, opening the small oval locket. "Ahh, that explains it," she exclaimed after a moment. "This is my friend Roberta's brother. She must have lost it while we were speaking. Terrible chatterbox, she is, isn't she, my love?" she asked Tommy, who answered with a small hiccup.

"Goes on and on and on. Her brother Patrick is working in the bakery where we always get those lovely fresh loafs, Mrs. Collins, you know that small baker in Clyde St.? Actually, we were there this morning to pick up some stale bread for the birds, weren't we, little man? We even spoke to him briefly. How funny that Paddy's face would end up in the pram the very same day."

She halted long enough to laugh at what she obviously considered a highly amusing coincidence and shoved the silver locket into her skirt pocket.

"I had better bring it back to Roberta, right tomorrow morning. She's usually up very early, I used to joke that she woke herself up talking..."

She kept speaking as she picked up the baby boy, promising him his bottle and leaving the room. The spouses looked at each other in silence.

"Did she just...?" Hugh trailed off.

"I believe she has just taken the necklace again," Dot said calmly. "Right from your hands, _Constable_ Collins."

X

The clinking of a spoon in a teacup was the only sound aside from the purring of the ginger cat who had decided to climb onto Phryne's lap. She wasn't certain if she enjoyed the company.

"So, someone's tryin' to frame me?" Luke asked, finally looking up from where the amber liquid was swirling through his cup in hypnotic circles. "For murdering a horse?"

"So it appears," Jack sighed.

"Unless you have taken to your own hat with a knife to leave a convenient trail at the scene of your crime," his wife stated calmly.

"But that's insanity," the farmer mumbled.

"I can't argue with that," the Inspector admitted. "But does anyone come to mind who would benefit of your feud with Harper escalating?"

O'Neill grunted at this.

"The nasty threesome. If Harper and I are busy scratching each other's eyes out, they can do in Woodend whatever they please."

"Nasty threesome?" Phryne asked, her ears pricking while her fingers absent-mindedly stroked ginger fur.

"Ferguson, Torres and Packard," the Farmer explained. "Ferguson has grown rich on a goldmine, fancying himself the next mayor with his two mates right by foot to do the dirty work. As long as old Miller is still alive that ain't happening, but he's not a strong man any more and they're lurking in the background to take over. If they get Harper, Father and me out of the picture that would certainly make their life easier."

The Inspector nodded.

"This Ferguson... is he the Sergeant running the local police station?" Phryne asked. Luke's jaw set.

"Nah, that's his son. Geoff may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he's not crooked, if that's what ya're asking. He's actually fell out with his father over some of his political ideas."

"What kind of ideas?" Jack asked, trying to keep his composure when Phryne's hand casually slipped onto his knee. It wasn't even a teasing touch, but his body had a great memory. Right now it pointed out that he had foolishly fought off her hands earlier. He resisted the urge to loosen his tie some more and gently brushed her fingers from himself. There was the hint of a frown on Phryne's forehead, but she retreated, returning her attention to the cat.

"Madness. They would like to ban women from making a living for themselves. This town has only survived through the War due to working women, I might add. And that's just the most recent of their great thoughts," he added, his face distorted in anger. Phryne could relate, her stomach felt suddenly like it was filled with boiling lava. "I don't even want to tell ya what they'd have in store for our farmhand, if they'd have their way," Luke added, in a half-whisper as if he didn't want to upset someone who wasn't there.

Jack squeezed his eyes shut to clear his thoughts. This sort of stupidity and hatred made his head spin.

"So... Harper...?"

"Aidan's an idiot," Luke stated calmly, nipping on his tea. "Selfish, stubborn, reckless even, but if you are searching for the real rotten apples, you gotta look closer to the tree."

The same moment the door flew open and a basket piled high with laundry stepped in.

"Can you help me put that down, please, love?" the sheets asked. Luke had already jumped to his feet and approached the pile of fabric. The flushed face of a woman appeared after he had eased the basket from her hands.

"Will you please stop overdoing it, mother? You are going to give yourself a heart attack in this weather," the farmer scolded.

"Oh, don't be silly," she grinned, reaching out to ruffle his hair. He dodged the attack just barely and set down the basket. The absence of son and laundry gave the view free to the Detectives, watching the scene with interest.

"Who are your guests then?" Mrs. O'Neill asked, already approaching the table.

"This are Inspector and Mrs. Robinson," Luke explained from where he was picking up a dropped pillow case. "They came up from Melbourne."

Laura O'Neill stopped cold in the middle of her movement. In amazement Phryne watched on as the colour drained from her face.

"Mother?"

Luke was already by her side, steadying her.

"I'm fine," she protested.

"Sit down," he insisted, steering her towards a chair. "I told you, you have strained yourself. In this weather too." He paused and turned, "Mrs. Robinson would you mind..."

Phryne appeared with a glass of water by his side before he could finish the sentence. Laura's hands were shaking when she took the offered drink from her fingers, staring with huge eyes at the Lady.

"Thank you," Luke said, crouched down beside his mother who was still white as the wall. He didn't turn towards the Detectives, who were hovering behind him. "Would you mind if we continue this talk at another point in time?"

"Certainly. Is there anything we can do?" the Inspector asked, storing his notebook away. The Farmer shook his head.

"Father's out in the fields at this time. But maybe you could send Jalboo in? I believe he is mucking out the henhouse as we speak."

"I'm terribly sorry to be such a nuisance," Laura explained with a shaky smile.

"Never you mind, Mrs. O'Neill," Phryne smiled. "We can continue the chat with your son in the morning."

After some more pleasantries the spouses left, stepping back out into the blinding sunshine.

"Strange," Phryne said while they crossed the courtyard.

"What is bothering you, Miss Fisher?" the Inspector asked.

"She seemed fine until the very moment he introduced us."

Jack tilted his head.

"Might be a coincidence."

"And since when do you believe in coincidences, Inspector?"

He grinned.

"A fair point, Miss Fisher."

They reached the chicken coop where a colourful cock eyed them suspiciously before stalking off. The farm worker stood with his back turned to them when they entered the gloomy stable. A piece of soiled straw just barely missed Phryne's face, settling on her shoulder. She glanced at it and brushed it off with a gloved finger, before approaching the farmhand, confidently steering her 3 inch heels through a layer of chicken poop.

"Hello?"

A hand flew up, moving the hat upwards and wiping some pearls of sweat from a face. Then he turned and Phryne's smile faltered.

"Ahh, Miss Fisher," Jalboo said. "I'm surprised it took you so long to show."

He tilted his head and gave her a grin of perfectly white teeth that stood in stark contrast to his grime-covered face. "You are here about Harper's horse, aren't you?" he added, setting his pitchfork aside. "A famous detective like yourself couldn't just ignore a murder."

Phryne finally found her composure. The meeting last night had seemed almost unreal, but as it turned out the aboriginal man was a creature completely from this world. A farmhand, currently looking at her in expectation. She stretched out her hand.

"Of course not," she smiled, "Mr...?"

"Jalboo will do," the man said, wiping his fingers on his pants in an effort not to stain her gloves.

"Mr. Jalboo, we were sent to call you inside," Jack finally pushed in after having witnessed the rather odd exchange. "The Lady of the house has suffered a little spell of fatigue."

"Oh dear," the man said. "I had better look after her. She's not been in a good way of late. Please excuse me."

He bustled away, sending more annoyed chickens racing across the courtyard. Jack turned to where Phryne still stood, looking after the man with a thoughtful expression.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

She tried a smile. It looked so fake that he could hardly bear it.

"Ghosts, Jack," she said. "He's right, they are hiding here."

He didn't ask any further.

X

He turned on his heels in the small entrance hall.

"Are you looking for me?" a friendly voice asked.

"And why ever would I do that?" he asked harshly. Miss Green shrugged.

"Possibly because you are a hotel guest and as such probably looking for someone who is working here. And as it happens – I do."

She fluttered her eyelids at him in mock friendliness and John scowled.

"I was in fact looking for your niece, hoping that she could tell me where to find the police station."

Miss Green nodded.

"I gather you have decided to join your son in his investigations?" she asked, searching for a pencil.

"Not that it is any of your business, but he has asked for my help," John lied. To his utter annoyance she smiled a knowing smile, telling him that he hadn't been convincing.

"Now, would you like me to call Rosemary down or are you going to trust me to point you in the right direction, Mr. Robinson?" she asked happily.

"Go ahead," he grumbled, "I doubt you can send me too far off the road."

"Don't tempt me," she whispered under her breath, while she made a rather crooked drawing.

"Pardon me?"

"Nothing to concern yourself with," she smiled. "Now, if you head out into the street, turn your step to the right..."

John leaned in to listen to her. She was wearing perfume, he noticed with growing annoyance. What bloody woman wore perfume on a perfectly normal afternoon in the countryside? Surely that couldn't be decent.

"Hello, John," another perfume flavoured woman said behind him. "Have you learned anything of consequence?"

"I am still on my way to the station. It least in case Miss Grey here has the decency to not send me to the wrong side of town."

Phryne tilted her head in question. Whatever was going on between Miss Green and her Father-in-law she really couldn't say. But she was rather curious as to the reason for the openly shown hostility.

"I trust you can read a map, Mr. Robinson?" Mia asked between clenched teeth and turned away to sort something in the back without paying any further mind to the grumbling man. With something inaudibly mumbled under his breath, John took his leave in search for the police station.

Phryne stared after him and watched him pass Jack, who had parked the motorcar a street down.

"Whatever has happened to father?" he asked. "He appears to be in an awful mood."

His wife shrugged.

"He seemed his usual self to me," she quipped.

Jack grinned, wondering briefly if he could propose retreating upstairs for an hour or two without being too obvious to Mia Green. He rather suspected that the elderly lady had more knowledge of the human nature than most. Phryne's hand sliding onto his lower back sent a spark along his spine that momentarily took his breath away. If she noticed the hitch she didn't show it. Instead she grasped for his watch.

"Miss Green, would we be able to get a cup of coffee? Maybe on the terrace?"

The elder lady looked up from where she was sorting the mail.

"Of course, I'll let the kitchen know right away."

"Would you also be so kind as to bring it yourself? I'd like another word with you," Phryne requested. The woman nodded in understanding.

"I will be a few minutes," she explained.

"No rush. We are on holiday after all," the Lady-Detective simpered before pulling her husband towards the dining room that led out into the garden. Jack followed her reluctantly. He still longed for some alone time with her, yet of course it was a selfish wish. Phryne needed closure on her disturbing dreams much more than anything he could give her.

So he let himself be steered to a small iron table in the shadow of a tree. There weren't many people sitting outside at this time, probably due to the heat. Phryne watched her Inspector fiddle with his tie in a way that meant he was uncomfortable and in sudden resolve reached out, starting to undo the knot. His face was unreadable, his eyes fixed on her as he fingers slipped over the silk. But he didn't protest. For some reason she couldn't explain, Phryne could feel her heart hammer in her chest as his collar fell open, exposing his neck and the cut her attempt at shaving had left. She brushed over it with the tip of her thumb. It wasn't deep, hardly worth mentioning really.

"Admiring your handy work, Miss Fisher?" he asked, his voice strangely rough.

"Admiring your neck," she said calmly as her thumb trailed further over his Adam's apple. He grasped her hand and removed it, pressing a kiss to her palm.

"Thank you," he said, if for freeing him from his tie or for complimenting his neck, she would never know, as in this very moment Miss Green arrived with the coffee. If she noticed the glitch in the Inspector's attire, she didn't mention it.

"Now, how can I be of help?" she asked after they had settled around their cups. "I assume this is about Aidan's horse?"

The Detectives traded a look.

"I am curious, Miss Green. Why did Grace Harper approach you for help?"

"That's easily explained. I used to be Aidan Harper's nurse when he was a little boy. Despite certain... circumstances terminating that employment prematurely, we are still holding a certain respect for each other."

"Those circumstances..." Phryne asked.

"The murder trial," Mia Green explained calmly. "As you know I wasn't convicted but by then my life had already fallen to pieces."

"I'm sorry," the Inspector said. He had experienced it before. Sometimes people got under the wheels of justice without any wrong doings to their name. The lady stirred silently in her coffee for a moment, then she squared her shoulders.

"Water under the bridge, Inspector. It worked out all right in the end. I got to spend my life travelling the world and dancing." This time the memories caused her to smile fondly. "Even though I now need to figure out what to do with myself. Shaking up doona's in my sister's hotel was not quite what I've been hoping for in my olden days."

Phryne found herself nodding.

"Aidan, however, was not quite so fortunate, I fear," Miss Green sighed. "He has never quite recovered from his mother's disappearance. At least that is what I tell myself when he acts like an utter imbecile."

"We haven't had the pleasure yet," the Lady-Detective explained.

"You might not find his company agreeable, Mrs. Robinson. He has grown into a very selfish man," Mia sighed. "I can understand that Luke didn't want to put up with him any longer. But it's sad nevertheless, they were great friends once. And poor Grace in the middle."

The Detectives traded a look.

"Friends?"

"Mr. O'Neill failed to mention that little detail," Phryne added to her husband's stunned question.

"They got along terrifically when they were children. They are merely two years apart after all and more or less grew up together, being cousins."

Mia looked from one to the other stunned face.

"I'm gathering nobody has told you that either then? Pete O'Neill is Evie's brother."

Phryne sipped on her coffee, staring past Jack's face at the tree.

"Would you mind telling me more about the Harpers?"

The older Lady seemed a tiny bit confused by her request but not offended.

"That depends, Mrs. Robinson. What exactly would you like to know?"

Phryne smiled.

"If you ask like that: I'd like to know everything."


	14. Chapter 13: What's In A Name?

**Chapter 13: What's In A Name?**

Grace watched on in silence as the farm workers finished digging the hole. Sweat was glistening on their faces as the four climbed out of the dry dirt. Jason wiped his face, leaving a smear on his cheek.

"Deep enough?" he asked, panting with the effort.

"I believe so," the woman answered quietly, throwing another look at the body near her feet. It was covered with a blanket now, but she still knew what it looked like and she wouldn't forget. The fact that Luke was responsible for this made it all the more horrible. How could he?

Grace wanted to cry, but she pulled herself together. This wouldn't do in front of the workers.

With a lot of huffing and puffing the three young men started to pull the sheet towards the dip in the ground while the elderly Clyde carried what was left of the head. It took them a long moment to get the body moving at all.

Grace watched on from the sideline. She had briefly wondered if it was a waste to bury the horses carcass, but she couldn't bring herself to do anything else with the remains of 'Evening Wind'. She had been truly fond of him, even though she knew that Luke had never taken to the stallion, despite loving animals. But this... She still couldn't grasp it. He was such a kind man. Had she not seen the buckle, the buckle of the very hat she had given him for his birthday after his old felt piece had come apart at the seams, she had never believed him to be capable of this. Anger and grief rose like bile in her throat, her vision going blurry. Aidan may well be happy in his self-righteousness but she wouldn't allow Luke to win the race through a murder. Never.

Her hands balled to fists in her pockets as she watched the men work. With a sickening sound the corpse slid into it's grave, causing Dave to scramble out of the way before he was squashed by the horse's ribcage. The blanket slipped aside, letting the legs fall out. Grace squinted, then climbed into the hole.

"Wait," she said to Jason, who had already lifted a shovel, while she crouched down beside the remains. Stunned the men watched on as their employer inspected one of the hoofs, mumbling to herself.

"Go ahead," she finally said, pulling herself to her feet and climbing out of the grave without looking back. Her head was still spinning when she arrived at the farm house.

X

"So, if she'd disappeared without a trace and no note, she might very well be dead."

Jack didn't turn his head, in fact he was trying not to look at his wife at all, lest he might lose his self-control. They were lying on the bed, on top of a perfectly shaken and incredibly flowery doona, staring at the ceiling, where a fan was spinning lazily.

"Of course she could just have run away," he pointed out calmly.

"With a baby boy at home?" Phryne asked, turning her head to look at him. Jack stubbornly refused to return her gesture. He was rather annoyed with himself. Here they were, discussing a possible murder and his body insisted on demanding her attention. It wouldn't do.

"That doesn't make her a great mother, but then stranger things have happened," he quipped.

Phryne hummed in annoyance. They had nowhere to go from here really. Evie Harper had been their only lead into the meaning of her dreams and it led absolutely nowhere.

Actually, that wasn't quite true!

With one swift movement she sat up.

"Phryne?"

She didn't answer, already at the edge of the bed and fishing for her shoes.

"The tree," she huffed, somewhat out of breath from her sudden activity. Jack didn't understand a word but nevertheless got up himself, if somewhat more slowly. He had rather enjoyed lying down, actually. It was still hot outside, his shirtsleeves sticking to his back uncomfortably when he tied up his shoes.

"Are you coming?" she asked already near the door. Somewhat grumpily he joined her.

This time it was her catching him by the arm.  
"Jack?"

He stopped, looked at her out of tired eyes.

"Would you prefer to stay?" she asked, sensing his bad mood. He shrugged.

"Strangely, Miss Fisher, I feel the urge to follow you wherever you decide to lead me."

A strained grin accompanied his words.

"Keep up then," she demanded, pulling him after her down the stairs. The hot wind brushed some of the weariness from Jack, but he still couldn't suppress a yawn when the Rock appeared in the distance. Phryne did her hardest to ignore it. She wasn't certain if it was the heat that had gotten to him, but every other possibility took her breath away with fear. She had no use for panic right now; she just needed to push forward and figure out what her mind was trying to tell her. And if it was that Jack was going to die, she also needed to find a way to cheat fate.

The Hispano came to a screeching halt at the foot of the rocks, if somewhat further to the South than in the past.

"Would you care to explain what we are looking for?" the Inspector asked, stifling another yawn.

"The tree Mr. Jalboo found my scarf in," she explained too briefly to actually make much sense while climbing over a fence and jumping down into the dry grass. The tall crown rose up towards the cornflower-coloured afternoon sky, as they approached.

Arriving in it's shadow Jack gently touched the bark of the beautiful, old Kurrajong tree with his palm.

"Don't!" Phryne demanded breathlessly, sensing him getting ready to tell her more about this particular specimen. As much as she appreciated his knowledge on plants, her mind couldn't take any Latin names or interesting background stories right now. Her nerves felt so thin they were close to snapping as she let her eyes sweep up the tree to where the leaves fluttered against the sunlight. Jack obediently fell quiet. At least for a moment.

"Phryne, why on earth are we here?"

"I've seen it in my dream," she said, absent-mindedly stepping around the trunk in search of something she couldn't explain while completely ignoring his slipping patience.

"This is getting ridiculous!"

Her mouth fell open at his tone of voice. Jack didn't speak to her like this. He closed the gap, his eyes glittering in anger.

"No matter which ghosts you are chasing, I am willing to listen. But I refuse to be treated like a stupid child!"

She swallowed dryly. In her madness she had actually forgotten to fill him in. He was staring at her, his eyes a piercing shade of grey in the bright sunlight, challenging her to defy him. Phryne felt the fake calmness she had shown all day drain from her body, leaving nothing but darkness and fear. But she couldn't tell him that she herself didn't know what she was looking for. She was so lost! How could she tell him that?

He obviously misinterpreted her silence, because the crease between his eyes deepened, together with his battered face causing him to look incredibly dangerous.

For a brief moment Phryne caught herself thinking that she didn't know this strange, furious man at all. Then emotions appeared on his features which she recognised: surprise and curiosity. He brushed past her in the most careful of sidesteps and returned his attention to the tree bark. Phryne spun on her heels, confused and embarrassed but also relieved that the thunderstorm had passed without causing a serious argument. She realised a moment later what had distracted his attention. His fingertips trailed over some carved lines, barely readable any more after decades of exposure to the elements and the tree's growth. Two names.

X

"Did you find the Station all right?" Rosemary Wilson asked happily when John Robinson demanded his keys. He wasn't in a great mood. His little talk with Sergeant Ferguson had told him absolutely nothing of any interest. In fact the young police officer had seemed almost bored. Things had been different in his days for sure. And now this young lady was being overly nice and lovely while Mia Green stood with her back turned, sorting through some paperwork which must have been incredibly important for her to warrant ignoring him.

"The description wasn't all that bad," he admitted grumpily, "even though discretion seems to be too much to ask for," he added louder, but to no effect. Rosemary flushed in embarrassment.

"I'm terribly sorry, my aunt-"

"Could not be bothered to keep our conversation to herself, it seems," he talked over the young woman, his annoyance growing.

"I wasn't aware that street directions were a state secret, Mr. Robinson," Mia said calmly, still unwilling to face him. A big hand fell onto John's shoulder before he had managed to grind out anything else.

"A word, father!" Jack hissed beside his ear, pulling the man away from the two women. Rosemary found herself addressed by a pale looking Phryne Robinson.

"Mrs. Wilson, is your mother around?"

"I am afraid she is on her way to Lancefield to run some errands," the young woman explained with the appropriate sorrow before switching her smile back on. "But maybe I can be of help?"

"I doubt it," Phryne stated under her breath. "I was rather hoping she could enlighten me on something regarding Evie Harper and a rather delicate issue."

Mrs. Wilson tilted her head. She must have heard the name before, the Lady-Detective guessed, but Evie would have been missing years before she'd been born.

"I'm afraid I can't assist you there," Rosemary stated, looking actually sorry. "But maybe..."

Mia stepped forward just when her niece searchingly turned towards her.

"I am not certain what your fascination with Evie is, Mrs. Robinson, but as it happens your father-in-law isn't wrong. Discretion is not a strength of this family. There are few secrets that my sister wouldn't have shared with me the very moment she returned home in those days. And my memory for saucy details is incredible."

She aimed a cheeky smile at the Detective, an effort that lit up her face up most attractively, despite or possibly because, the pattern of wrinkles decorating it.

"A woman after my own heart," Phryne quipped, turning briefly in search for Jack who was nowhere to be seen before following the lady into the back. Rosemary looked after them with some confusion but decided to not bother herself with things that were none of her business.

X

The Inspector was pacing the guest room which was an exact mirror image of their own, watched by a pair of calm, grey eyes. Anger was still bubbling in his stomach. He was in a good mood to pack his suitcase and take Jane and Phryne back to St. Kilda where there were no ghosts to chase and no animals murdered in their stables. And certainly no John Robinson, acting like a spoiled child.

"What on earth is going on with you?" he asked. "Your behaviour towards Miss Green is plainly embarrassing."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," John said cooly but unmoved. Jack spun on his heels, his eyes blazing.

"Don't give me that, Father!" he spat. "You of all people know it inappropriate to speak to a lady like that. You would have personally smacked me if I'd ever dared aim that tone at anyone!"

"You are right," John said. "One should never be rude to a lady. But then there is no lady present in a conversation with Miss Amilia Green."

Jack shook his head slowly, trying to figure out the riddle his father had presented him with.

"What are you talking about?" he finally asked, not willing to play games.

"Are you aware that she tried to kill her husband back in 1902?" John asked.

"Fiance," Jack corrected automatically. "And she wasn't convicted."

"I will take that as a confirmation," his father said, raising his chin. "My superior back then decided it would be exciting to head to the trial. We didn't get many murders. I watched her wrap that judge around her little finger with her flirtation and her fluttering eyelashes. And now she was involved in another murder. Are you completely certain that you have locked up the right person, Jack? Because _she_ hasn't changed at all!"

His voice had grown loud on the last sentence.

"Absolutely positive," Jack said calmly, a sudden suspicion sneaking around in his mind. "She had nothing to do with the murder of Mr. Steeger. And I doubt that she'd ever made an attempt on Mr. Happ's life either."

"How would you know?" the older man asked truculently, obviously unwilling to be convinced by silly things like reason.

"Because I am a policeman, Father. And I take my investigations seriously."

"I've never questioned that," John protested. His son stared at him, pondering if he should ask but decided to drop the subject.

"I expect you to behave civilised towards Miss Green," he stated before leaving the room. Sulky silence was his only answer before the door fell shut.


	15. Chapter 14: That Sanguine Anticipation

**Chapter 14: That Sanguine Anticipation  
**

Dot pulled the tin from the oven with a pained half-curse. Maybe she should have used more than a dish towel after all to protect her fingers from the heat. Especially the thumb she'd burned the other night loudly voiced it's protest. The apple cake had turned a tad too dark on the top, but she guessed it was still edible. Just not perfect. That's what she got for her absent-mindedness.

She had just moved it to the cooling rack when Mr. Butler stepped through the door, balancing a teapot on a tray.

"I know we agreed to sit down a half hour from now, but I couldn't help but be drawn over by the most wonderful smell, Dorothy," he explained. He didn't think it necessary to mention that he also had received a telephone call from Riya Santi, who had invited him to her house for dinner. A chance he would not ignore while his employers were abroad. Dot smiled thinly at his compliment.

"It is still quite hot," she explained.

"And there is nothing as beautiful as a warm piece of apple cake," the Butler explained, setting down a silver bowl filled with cream. Dot stared at the container, her stomach twisting uncomfortably. It had occurred to her at some point in the last two hours that Nora Aberville might also be involved in the mysterious absence of the sugar sifter. A thought that didn't sit at all well with Mrs. Collins, even though she had not yet found the courage to confront the girl. Mr. Butler noticed her frown, but misinterpreted.

"The cream was left from Mrs. Robinson's tea with her aunt on Friday. It will not last until her return and I don't see any point in letting it go sour," he explained calmly.

"I am sure she wouldn't mind at all, Mr. Butler."

She absent-mindedly cut the hot cake into wedges, not worrying about the crumbling edges nor the steam rising when she pulled it apart and wondered dimly why Mr. Butler would ever think her to question his use of the Robinson's resources. She knew that Miss Fisher had never thought this way. As long as her staff did not demolish whatever she had intended for her guests, they were free to use whatever they saw fit. There had been a slight incident once with Bert's hunger spoiling her dinner arrangements for the Inspector, back when he had been a cherished guest rather than the Master of the house. Mr. Butler had been forced to quickly improvise and as far as Dot knew, Miss Phryne had never mentioned the changed dinner plans.

As for the Inspector: Dorothy wasn't entirely certain if he was even aware of his power in the household. His presence had shifted with time, from a guest who politely asked for their assistance to an employer who had come to expect it. Yet, his manners were still respectful in a way that suggested he didn't think of them as his servants or bother to draw any lines between their social standings. On mornings he had to rise early, he could be found in the kitchen sharing the newspaper with Mr. Butler over cups of tea that he wasn't reluctant to brew himself. That had been a rather confusing discovery for Mrs. Collins to begin with, but things had settled into a strange routine by now. As everything in Miss Fisher's household it was just another unconventional habit that everybody had come to see as normal. Just as Hugh and the Inspector had gotten used to the awkwardness of living under one roof. The only one who didn't seem to slot seamlessly into their family was Nora Aberville.

Dorothy flinched, when Mr. Butler took the knife from her hand.

"Excuse my brashness, but you seemed about to make an attempt on your cake's life," he quipped. Dot felt herself blush in embarrassment. She wondered briefly if to share her horrible suspicion with the elder man, but as she watched him lay the table she refrained from the thought. He was in such a good mood that she didn't want to spoil it.

"Now, will you tell me what is bothering you?" he asked after they had settled. Dot, who had just began to chew on a dry piece of cake crust, almost suffocated when a sudden cough haunted her. He gently tapped her on the back until she could breath again. For some time they continued to quietly sip their tea.

"I am not curious, Dorothy, but you may feel better after getting it off your chest," Mr. Butler prodded gently.

The maid sighed, breaking her silence.

"Purely hypothetically speaking, Mr. Butler, if you suspected that someone had committed a crime. Not... murder or such, but just... say theft. What would you do?"

He measured her out of big, thoughtful eyes for a long moment.

"That is a very complicated situation, Dorothy."

"Isn't it?" she asked quietly, tapping the edge of her teacup with her fingertips.

"I suppose I would ensure I am right before I bring such an accusation into the world," Tobias stated. Dot found herself chewing on her bottom lip.

"It isn't something one would want to be wrong about," he added. His opposite nodded, deep in thought. So she would have to do some sleuthing. Easy.

X

Jack's mood seemed to have darkened further by the time he returned to the lobby. Rosemary Wilson looked up from where she had discussed the new arrivals with her husband.

"Ahh, Inspector. Your wife is in the office with my aunt right now. Would you like me to show you the way?"

"Thank you, that would be marvellous," he said, unable to hide his sarcasm. His annoyance with just about anyone at this stage was limitless. On top of his father and Phryne behaving in the most odd of ways, two cases he couldn't make a rhyme on and his body torturing him with a variety of demands, he could feel the beginnings of a nasty headache coming on. The kind that announced a storm approaching. The Inspector didn't mind a good thunderstorm, much preferred it to the heat, but the tension in the atmosphere would build for several more hours before it would erupt into a violent outburst of nature. Until then he was stuck with a pounding head, which had already been spinning. He followed Mrs. Wilson into the back under the kind eyes of her husband.

"I was wondering if you would like to join us for dinner tonight, Inspector," the hostess asked happily. "My aunt speaks highly of you and I am curious about this murder case she was involved in."

"I shall talk to my wife," the Inspector promised between clenched teeth. "She made the arrangements, so I am not certain what she is planning." That was not quite the truth but he wasn't particularly tempted by spending an evening being prodded for anecdotes from work.

"I'm sure my mother would also be thrilled to make your acquaintance," the young woman continued, just as they arrived at the door to the small office and knocked. "She always cooks a traditional dinner the night before the big race. Says it is good luck."

"Good luck to whom exactly?" Jack asked, wondering for the first time who the people in the city would cheer for. Mrs. Wilson shrugged and laughed.

"Just general good luck, I am guessing. She doesn't care much who wins, but she always fears for the riders. And the horses of course. A broken leg and everything is over."

Jack nodded as the door swung open.

"Ahh, Jack," Phryne smiled, stretching out her hand. He joined her, yet only briefly took her hand remaining standing against a desk, while Miss Green continued.

"There was this shearer, a swagman. I believed his name was Louis, but it might well have been Lucas. My sister's memory for detail was never very good. A young man, quite handsome as I recall and of course Evie noticed." She paused. "You see, Harper wasn't a bad man, not bad at all, but it wasn't exactly a match made in heaven. They married for convenience. She needed a husband and he needed a wife, it's basic maths really for most people."

She frowned at her own sarcasm while the spouses shared a look. Then Miss Green continued.

"So, I can't say I was surprised when she fell in love with this Lucas. But she was silly enough to begin an affair with him right under her husband's eyes. It was reckless. Dangerous. The old Harper was a devoted husband but you never know what such a man is capable of when he is made a fool of."

Phryne considered a cheeky comment, but a brief glance at Jack's knitted eyebrows let it die on her tongue. After his earlier outburst, teasing him with his occasional spells of jealousy did not seem a clever move.

"Did he find out?" Jack asked. Mia shrugged.

"Not to my knowledge. The man left with the other shearers when the work was done and months went between then and the night Evie packed up and left. If I am honest it occurred to me that maybe she had gone searching for him."

"That might have been worth a mention in our earlier conversation." the Inspector pointed out sharply.

"It's been a long time ago," Mia said. "I had all but forgotten about the man."

Jack nodded, his jaw clenched. Phryne felt worry well up in her stomach that she stubbornly swallowed down.

"Why the sudden interest?" Mia asked. "I know you are investigating into the slaughter of Aidan's horse but that can hardly be related to his mother's disappearance?"

Phryne grimaced at this. The possibility hadn't even occurred to her.

"That seems unlikely," she explained. "But then a good mystery never fails to intrigue me."

"I don't see much being mysterious about Evie's leaving. She was unhappy as a farmer's wife, I cannot blame her and I guess neither can you, Mrs. Robinson?"

Phryne smiled at this.

"Certainly not," she answered. "But then I wouldn't leave my child behind, even if I decided to flee from my husband's grasp," she added, feeling Jack taking in a sharp breath. That had probably not been a particularly well chosen statement.

"Evie didn't take much to her role as a mother," Mia admitted quietly. "After Aidan's birth she suffered a long time from gloomy moods. I believe she felt rather overwhelmed with the whole experience. Her love affair gave her a way out of a life she didn't want."

Phryne attempted to grasp for Jack's hand, brushing against his leg instead. He tensed underneath her accidental touch and the Lady-Detective began to feel her temper flare. Surely he couldn't still be mad at her to that extent?

They took their goodbyes from Mia Green and retreated upstairs to their room, where Phryne dug through the cabinet in an attempt to find something suitable for the evening while her husband sat down on the edge of the bed, watching her.

"How was your conversation with John?" she asked when he didn't seem inclined to even make polite small-talk.

"Strange," he answered.

"Would you care to explicate?" she asked sweetly, her patience slipping. Jack cleared his throat.

"It appears he witnessed her trial back in the day. He has gotten it into his mind that she escaped justice merely by parading her... female advantages in front of the judge."

Phryne smiled bitterly into the cabinet.

"The moral high ground, I see," she quipped.

"So it seems," Jack sighed, allowing himself to undo two buttons on his shirt. He felt hot and absolutely ragged. "But I don't believe that to be the whole truth."

His wife turned, obviously having come to a decision on her evening attire and continued to her jewellery box.

"How so?" she asked, between riffling through her necklaces.

"Because I looked into Miss Green's trial when she became a murder suspect. There was absolutely no evidence pointing towards her. Father was too thorough a police officer to ignore that."

"We are talking about the man who almost disinherited you for living with a 'floozy'," Phryne quipped, sitting down to redo her make-up. Jack couldn't help but flinch at the memory, but his wife didn't seem particularly bothered.

"True," he sighed, rubbing his face with both palms. "But I can't help but think there is more to it."

"Maybe he wished she had flirted with him rather than the judge," Phryne smirked while applying her lipstick.

Jack snapped out of his musing.

"He was married to my mother!" he protested hotly, standing up, ready to fight this. Phryne opened her mouth to point out that that would hardly keep a man from noticing an attractive woman, but she stopped herself just in time. She had never met Anna Robinson - Jack's mother had passed away years before the Lady-Detective had entered the picture - but was well aware that he had been incredibly fond of her. And John's devotion to his deceased wife bordered on worship at times. In the light of this the mere accusation of a betrayal might well send the already complicated relationship between father and son into complete meltdown – yet again. She truly harboured no intention of seeding any suspicion in Jack's mind for the benefit of being clever.

"Keep your shirt on, Inspector, I was merely joking," she smiled, slipping to her feet. He looked tired, flushed and angry and she couldn't help the urge to run a calming hand down his battered face. His eyes fixated on hers before dropping to her neck. His fingertips came to caress the sapphires wrapped around her neck.

"I didn't realise you've brought them," he said, somewhat horsely. Phryne cocked her head at him.

"Why wouldn't I? I am very fond of them. As I am of the man who gave them to me."

"Is that so?"

She felt relief flood her veins as his expression softened and his lips opened in preparation for a kiss, his arms wrapping around her. A pained grimace stopped him in his intention. Phryne watched her husband with fresh alarm as he withdrew, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Headache," he explained before she could ask.

"I believe I have a powder in my sui-"

His lips sealed hers, rendering her quiet. Phryne allowed herself to let go. They were both breathless when they detached their lips.

"I could think of other ways to cure my headache," he breathed.

Phryne fished for his wrist, revelling in the pulse beating fast and hard against her thumb when she guided his watch to eye height.

"I'm afraid, someone will beat down our door in less than ten minutes," she pointed out with considerable regret.

"That isn't quite the time frame I had hoped for," Jack sighed, his eyes longingly sweeping over the bed. Honestly he didn't only ache for Phryne, he also was in no mood to go out anymore.

"We might have to exercise patience," his wife smiled while attempting to wipe her lipstick from him with little success. He huffed.

"I fear that is not my strongest virtue," he pointed out, refusing to let go of her.

"You seemed awfully well composed for most of our acquaintance." Her lips pulled into a fake pout that he didn't believe for a moment.

"I may have misled you, Miss Fisher," he admitted with a tiny quirk of his mouth.

Phryne found herself struggling against the temptation his eyes held. Jack's lips were close, soft and inviting and she knew exactly that if she allowed him to kiss her again, Mac could burn down the hotel and she wouldn't be able to tear herself away.

"Jack," she breathed, gently retreating from his grasp. He looked so disappointed that she couldn't help but giggle. "Tonight," she promised, "only a few more hours filled with with the sanguine anticipation of happiness."

"Which is happiness itself," he finished.

"You've been at my books again, Inspector," she grinned, finally completely withdrawing from him and returning to the dressing table to fix her make-up.

"Barely."

With a sigh Jack started to collect his evening clothes from the cabinet. The prospect of shedding his sweaty shirtsleeves for some crisp, cool clothes was helping him resist the lure of soft pillows and even softer skin. Their banter also had improved his mood immensely, but nevertheless the thunderstorm still hung over his head like a nasty cloud.

A sudden movement of bending over the washing bowl in order to rid himself of any traces of scarlet lipstick, caused the pain to flare up again. Jack was still busy cursing himself for accepting the Wilson's dinner invitation when a glass appeared in his sight.

"Drink this," Phryne ordered while he stared at her offering in confusion. "I know endurance is meant to be a masculine virtue but I'd rather you'd not sit at the dinner table with a pained expression all evening. It might send the wrong message to our hosts."

She returned to her business while Jack still stared at the glass in his hand. Then he downed the bitter liquid in one big gulp.


	16. Chapter 16: One For The Road

**Chapter 15: One For The Road**

If they had expected a small dinner with the family of the hotel owners, they were sorely mistaken. In fact half the town seemed to be collected around massive tables in the garden of the „Queen Victoria Hotel", chattering filled the air and disturbed the hotel guests. She spotted some familiar faces. Laura O'Neill had recovered since the morning, now chattering happily at the stoic man who seemed to be her husband and had shed his farm clothes for something more formal – appearing very uncomfortable. Beside them their was son sat, staring unseeingly at his beer glass. The obvious reason for his gloomy mood stood at the other end of the garden, almost demonstratively attached her husband's arm, who was currently in deep conversation with the older man from the racetrack. Children raced past them, chasing each other around the table laden with food.

"Inspector? Mrs. Robinson? Over here," a friendly voice called. Rosemary Wilson's lips were as red as her dress, her hair in playful curls draped around her face. She looked beautiful, as her husband was seemingly also well aware of. The pride gleaming in the man's eyes as he was dragged towards their guests was unmistakable and awfully familiar to the Inspector. In fact he suspected that the exact expression was mirrored on his own face. Phryne had produced an absolutely stunning dress, now glittering silvery in the dim light, complimented perfectly by a strain of white and blue sapphires in a simple, yet tasteful, necklace.

It had been the first piece of jewelry the Inspector had allowed himself to give to her and there had been a certain anxiety attached to it. Of course, Miss Fisher had the ability to wear a potato sack and make it appear the height of fashion, but he actually suspected that he had managed to get it right. It certainly took_ his_ breath away every time he spotted in on her.

Right now she was greeting their hosts with all the proven charms of the Honourable Phryne Fisher.

"I am afraid I still haven't had the joy of meeting your mother," she smiled.

Rosemary's face shadowed for a brief moment.

"I fear that won't change tonight, Mrs. Robinson. You see, she spent all day with preparations for the feast and this weather tends to give her the most terrible of headaches."

"Is she all right?" Phryne asked.

"She isn't feeling well and has withdrawn to her room. But she does hope very much that you will enjoy our little celebration. And I have to admit, I've had the cheek to sit your family with us."

While she chattered she had led her guests towards the far end of the garden, where huge candles dipped everything into flickering twilight. Jane looked up as her parents approached and shot them a broad smile before she returned her attention to Mac and Hazel, between who she was seated and who were currently staring at a piece of paper she was drawing on. They were watched by a gloomy looking Iris, who seemed to find trouble joining into the lively conversation her husband was having with Mia Green.

"You can't say that?!" they heard John protest, just when they drew closer. "He may have never reached the riches he could have, yet even in his lifetime he was recognized as the genius he was."

"It was his own doing though that kept him from having a successful career," Rupert argued. "Royalty was willing to listen to him, yet he was unable to keep a position."

"I blame his parents for the misery," Mia Green stated. "Dragging one's children across Europe at five years old to the entertainment of the masses cannot leave them with a healthy attitude towards life. It's no wonder he despised his father."

"Not everything can be blamed on the parents though. At some point one has to start making own decisions and be responsible for them," John protested.

"I believe he married without his father's consent in the end," Jack grinned, slipping onto a chair beside his father.

"At least something you children never did," John grumbled happily, sipping on his wine. He seemed to actually enjoy himself in the heated argument, Phryne noted with some confusion.

"A fairly close call, Father," his son explained calmly while Mia filled his glass. John scowled at him but decided to ignore the teasing reminder of their great fight that had ended only shortly before Jack's wedding with Phryne.

"What are they talking about?" Jane addressed her mother in a whisper, leaning across Mac.

"Mozart."

"They are showing off," Hazel whispered loudly from the other side, accompanied by a broad grin.

"So not what _you_ are doing at all," Phryne quipped, glancing at the piece of paper her daughter still held. It showed the drawing of a plant that looked awfully like their last murder weapon. "Having your sleuthing talents admired, are you?"

Jane had the decency to blush.

"Hazel had to work the night of the ball," she explained. "I was just telling her about what happened."

"As long as you don't repeat trying to get yourself killed, I won't argue with you being a little proud. You have stopped a murderess after all."

Jane beamed at that and Phryne smiled kindly. Truthfully she was a little worried. Her daughter's clever mind and joy in sleuthing had saved some lives already, including her own, but Jane was still very young and it was dangerous to hold one's curious nose into things that well armed people considered none of your business. Nobody knew that as well as Phryne Robinson.

She felt Jack's eyes rest on her and looked up to find him watch her across the table. He was smiling, but the flickering flames illuminating his face, showed deep shadows carved into his features. There was still a slight crease of pain knitted into his brows, but it had softened, the powder she had given him was starting to work.

"Aidan?"

Miss Green waved over Harper who approached with a smile that looked a little fake.

"Have you met the Inspector and his wife?" Mia asked.

"I haven't had the pleasure yet," the farmer said in a surprisingly deep voice. "But I have heard plenty of you."

Phryne wasn't entirely certain if what he had heard were good things. But she extended her hand and greeted him all the same.

"So, you are looking into 'Evening Winds' murder, my wife tells me?" he asked, taking a seat and lighting himself a cigarette.

"We are," Jack confirmed, sipping on his wine glass.

"I also hear you are quite good at your job, but I believe this case must be a bit on the ridiculous side for a Detective-Inspector?" Aidan asked calmly. "Aside from that it is more than obvious who killed my horse."

"Your wife disagrees," John pointed out.

"Well, Grace believes in the good in man more than is sensible. But O'Neill's grudge against me is not a secret to anyone in this town."

"What about Ferguson?" the Inspector asked. To his surprise, Harper laughed.

"I have no problem with Ferguson. But then again, Luke would tell you he was a monster. There is no love lost between them. In fact, I am not certain if the O'Neills just hate the entire world out of principle."

He got to his feet.

"Now do excuse me please, my wife is waiting."

"Not quite the same story," Phryne said slowly when the farmer had retreated, returning to a table with Grace and the older man he had talked to earlier.

"Who is he?" Mac asked, who had been witnessing the exchange in silence.

"Bill Ferguson," Miss Green explained, frowning. "Very bad news the man, if you ask me."

Packard joined them a moment later, obviously disgruntled.

"And there is our butcher again," John grumbled. "In my book also a very charming young man."

Miss Green shot him a look that could have almost been called friendly and resisted any urge to point out that Packard was almost his age.

"And there is number three," she breathed, when a lanky man also sat down. "Wade Torres. Runs a business nobody really knows what it is about, but makes plenty of money from it."

The man briefly looked over to the Detectives and smiled. Phryne shuddered. He was certainly not ugly, even handsome in a weird sort of way. But she couldn't help feeling unsettled by his presence. Ferguson on the other hand seemed nice, as long as you didn't listen too closely to what he had to say, as she had noticed at the training race.

"The boy's gonna get himself into trouble," she heard Miss Green mumble.

"I hope you are not talking about me?" a man quipped behind her. Robert Wilson took his seat, a full plate in his hands, just when Jane also returned from the buffet.

"You should see all the food!" she exclaimed.

"Did you leave any?" Rupert asked laughingly.

"Barely, by the look of it," Jack grumbled under his breath.

"I don't believe she could eat her way through it in a week," Robert grinned. "My mother-in-law isn't only a good cook but also a very excessive one. But please do help yourselves to some food before the best bits disappear."

They did as they had been asked and were joined little later by Rosemary and a middle-aged man she introduced as Doctor Alexander Doyle.

"A fellow Doctor?" Mac asked between bites.

"I'm afraid I am more specialized on the four legged creatures roaming this earth," he answered, his eyes smiling.

"Alexander is our town veterinarian," Mrs. Wilson pointed out to anyone who hadn't understood the obvious explanation. Her husband smiled at her, gently patting her hand.

"So did you know 'Evening Wind'?" Jane asked with her mouth full, a double offense. A shadow crossed Doyle's face.

"I did in fact. I recommended his breeder to Aidan as it happened. What a tragic ending for such a proud horse."

Nobody could disagree with that and the conversation was quickly stirred back to nicer subjects.

Jack found that he was actually enjoying himself, especially since his headache had soften to a dull ache and Phryne seemed to have relaxed, chattering along happily. Iris, however, still was utterly quiet and he was starting to wonder if he should after all corner her to draw her secret from her. But now was not the time.

He was leaning back in his chair, listening to the conversation and sipping on a particularly good drop of wine when a gust of wind blew out one of the candles. The occupants of the table aimed their eyes at the sky at the same time. Dark clouds were balling above their heads.

"It appears like we have a storm coming," Miss Green pointed out towards her niece, who had been in deep conversation with Hazel.

"It does, too," Rosemary Wilson sighed. "I had better find Robert and see if we can move the party inside."

She hurried off to where her husband had disappeared to instruct the kitchen staff on dessert arrangements not ten minutes earlier.

"Please do excuse me," Miss Green begged, getting to her feet. To her surprise, she found herself confronted with John Robinson, who was already standing and blocking her path.

"I might be useless in finding the Station here, but I can carry chairs and platters," he grumbled, offering her his arm. She reluctantly took it.

"You might want to close your mouth, Inspector," Phryne whispered beside her husband's ear.

"I believe that is the first time my father actually listened to a word I've said," Jack explained, still stunned.

"You never know, Phryne might be next," Mac quipped, starting to blow out the candles to take them inside. Little later they were left in darkness until lightning tore the sky apart, briefly dipping everything into ghostly brightness. The breeze had turned into a wind now, tearing at hats and table-clothes as the party began to shuffle things inside. The clap of thunder almost caused Phryne to drop the glasses she was carrying. There were people everywhere and it took a mere ten minutes to evacuate the remainders of the great feast. Everybody seemed a tiny bit lost, blinking in the electric light inside, random items clutched to their chest, but there stood Robert Wilson, parting the crowds like Moses the Red Sea, a conductor of people, food plates and chairs. Phryne watched the shy, handsome man take over. Another fifteen minutes later, the entire party was settled in the large dining and sitting rooms and the food arranged back into an orderly buffet. The very minute the Robinsons settled around a table another strike of lightning opened the sky. The flood coming down was a breathtaking view and Phryne's hand absent-mindedly snuck onto the Inspector's lap underneath the table-clothes, intertwining their fingers. Jack finished his wineglass in one great gulp, wondering briefly if she tormented him on purpose. Not that he truly minded, he felt rather light-headed and pleasantly numb.

"That was not quite following plan," Rosemary panted beside them, falling heavily onto a chair.

"But I believe we managed it without any wet feet."

"I beg to differ," Iris pointed out, when two dark figures raced towards the doors. Cursing, John Robinson burst inside, drenched to the bone, right behind him Mia Green.

"I told you, we should have left it," she argued.

"If we had done it my way we had made it just in time."

Bickering, the pair disappeared towards the hall, obviously in the intention of getting changed, leaving them to the strangest sound. Several pairs of eyes turned. This time it was on Phryne to gape. Her husband was currently busy pouring himself another glass of wine.

"Jack!?"

"Phryne?"

"You are chuckling!"

He shrugged.

"I thought them funny."

He downed another glass without any hesitance. Phryne's eyes sought out Mac's across the table, then she took the bottle from Jack's shaky hands. Her head was spinning. She had seen Jack drunk maybe once or twice and he had had several glasses of wine. But then the Inspector was not a light-weight. It took a lot of spirit to get him anywhere near a drunken state and then he generally tended towards brooding rather than... giggling.

"I don't understand," she mouthed to her friend. Uninvited pictures returned of their last murder case, of a man losing his mind before collapsing. Poison! Her blood ran cold.

"Was he feeling all right earlier?" Mac asked, already by their side and taking Jack's pulse, who suddenly looked like he was about to topple over.

"I _am_ present, you know?" the Inspector protested, but was ignored by both women.

"He had a headache," the Detective explained with a gesture that drew another chuckle from him. Hazel had to press a hand in front of her mouth to not burst into laughter and was hit by an angry look from Iris, who also was hovering over her cousin's shoulder.

"Did he take anything?" Mac asked, then looked up at Phryne who had paled.

"I gave him a painkiller," she explained.

"By chance the one I handed to you the other week?" Elisabeth asked pleasantly. "The one I expressed very clearly was not to be taken with alcohol?"

Under her friends angry expression, Phryne chewed on her lip. He had been poisoned – by her.

"Possibly," she admitted.

"Is he going to be all right?" Jane asked, now worried as well.

"Once he slept this off, he'll be a new man," the doctor sighed, trying to steady Jack who was getting to his feet.

"I am perfectly capable of standing myself, Mac, thank you," the Inspector said, sounding sober. His slight sway called him a liar, but he stubbornly made his way towards the stairs all the same. Phryne raced after him, catching him just in time before he slammed his shoulder into the door frame.

"Is the Inspector all right?" Robert Wilson asked as he joined his wife. "He seemed rather pale."

"Fine," she smiled thinly. Things really weren't going to plan at all.


	17. Chapter 16: Meeting My Shadow

**Chapter 16: Meeting My Shadow**

They reached their hotel room with some difficulty. Jack's steps were unsteady and once or twice Phryne feared they might topple down the stairs together. But in the end they made it to room No. 13. While she searched her handbag for the key, Jack leaned against the wall, watching her out of glassy eyes.

"Phryne?"

She looked up and despite the haze surrounding his brain, it was easy to tell that she was upset. He extended his hand to touch her face.

"I am feeling rather drunk, Miss Fisher," he grinned. She nodded, smiling thinly.

Unsteadily he pushed himself away from the wall and brought his lips to hers. She stiffened for a moment before responding. Jack had enough self-awareness to know that he in all probability didn't make for a particularly attractive man right now. But he ached so deeply for her that he couldn't be bothered to care. Instead he did his hardest to kiss her senses away. A shiver trickled down his spine when he heard her moan into his mouth. Pushing her backwards against the cool wall he intensified their kiss, his roaming hands already attempting to release her from her dress.

"The door," she panted. "I can't seem to find the stupid key."

"Trouser pocket," he returned, barely detaching his lips for long enough to grind out the words. He felt her fingers sneak into his pants, his hips involuntarily jerking against her. He needed to feel her, so, so much!

But she removed him from herself enough to fiddle the key into the door before allowing him again to clutch onto her. The stunning dress didn't make it to the bed - if it was salvagable remained to be seen. Jack's hands were everywhere and Phryne found herself confused, yet too willing to give him anything he wanted to question his desires.

Right now she just burned to be near him, confirm that her silly mistake hadn't harmed him. How utterly, utterly stupid of her. She could hear Mac's voice still ringing in her ears.

"Do you think I could get your full attention, Miss Fisher?" Jack teased, snapping her out of her dark thoughts. She smiled thinly, pulling him into another kiss. They fell on the bed in a mess of tangled clothes and groping hands, too desperate to give a damn about their neighbours.

It occurred briefly to Phryne that taking advantage of her husband's drugged state was probably not decent nor fair, yet Jack didn't give her much of a chance to ponder the morality of their doings. His lips were as hot as his hands, both clumsy and passionate as they touched and pleased her. There was indeed little elegance to their love making, no sign of seduction or erotic games. Instead the entanglement was raw and personal and completely artless, as the two held onto each other so tightly it seemed they couldn't bear an inch of space separating them.

It was too intense to last.

Phryne heard herself whisper Jack's name as she toppled over the edge, the sound pulling him along right after her. Panting they came to lie together in the unfamiliar pillows. Jack's eyes stayed closed as he slipped into alcohol-induced slumber. His wife remained awake long enough to pull the sheet across them before she followed him.

X

"Oh, c'mon, Mac, it was funny."

"Jack is suffering side-effects of combining alcohol and drugs. I'm not certain how that qualifies as evening entertainment," the Doctor grumbled, pulling her lover closer to herself. Hazel shrugged as they walked down the long corridor towards their room. She wasn't currently not quite sober herself, the Doctor noted fondly.

"I have never seen him drunk before," Hazel explained, her green eyes sparkling in amusement. "It is reassuring, seeing him less than composed for once."

Mac struggled with that sentence for a moment. She'd seen Jack lose his head on occasion. But admittedly, it was usually related to Phryne.

She, a darker thought pointed out, had also once witnessed him struggle for his life for two endlessly long days. It wasn't a particularly fond memory and she'd never shared more than absolutely necessary about the experience with Hazel. She'd been glad then that Sanderson had forbidden Jack's family to visit him while he was thrashing about in fever dreams and agony. Nobody who loved a person should have to witness them like this. Of course, Phryne Fisher hadn't allowed anyone to drag her away from her Inspector, but she too had changed in those days by his bedside.

"He _is_ going to be all right, isn't he?" Hazel asked, sensing the sudden shift of mood.

Mac unlocked the door before answering with a sigh: "He will be just right in the morning. I am considerably more worried about Phryne having another fainting spell. She doesn't look good at all."

Creases formed between Hazel's brows.

"Another-"

"Never mind," the Doctor said quickly, pushing the door in.

Mac cursed herself and that last glass of wine she hadn't been able to resist. She had promised herself she wouldn't spill the beans.

She felt her lover open her mouth in protest and wondered how long she could avoid her questions when something white caught her eye.

"What is it?" Hazel asked, watching on as the Doctor picked a folded sheet of paper from the carpet.

"That...," Mac's features turned stony as she read, "...is a welcome letter."

X

Her golden pistol pressed to her chest, she snuck down the stone steps, entering the crypt. Her breath caught in her throat when she spotted the silhouette of a man tied to a chair, his back turned to her. The blue ribbons binding him seemed to be glowing in the dark.

"Ahh, Miss Fisher," a voice boomed. She spun on her heels. There was nobody. But she knew the voice. She would never forget the voice.

"Show yourself!" she demanded. Foyle stepped out of the dense shadows, slowly clapping his hands.

"You found us then. Well done, Miss Fisher."

Phryne scowled at him as she drew closer to the man, her pistol still clutched to herself.

"Jack?" she called. There was no answer.

"One would be forgiven to think that you'd take better care of your husband, considering you already lost little Janey," Foyle said casually, laying a hand on the other man's shoulder. Phryne had to hold on very tightly to not shoot him where he stood. He was too close to Jack for such an outburst. Instead she snuck closer without taking her eyes of the killer, waiting for him to pull his knife.

Somewhere in her mind she was aware of being in a dream. But while it was the same place, it wasn't the usual one. She wasn't trying to walk through liquid glass, attempting to get to Jack before the blade penetrated his throat and the blood started pouring. Instead, Foyle seemed completely unfazed by her approaching. He dissolved just when she rounded the Inspector, looked down at his pale face. He stared back out of two empty, grey eyes. She'd come too late.

Phryne recoiled.

"No, you can't do that!"

Jack didn't answer.

"You cannot be dead!"

She grabbed his shoulder in an attempt to shake him. He was freezing cold under her hand. Phryne stumbled backwards, tripped, hit the cold stone floor. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing his empty stare to go away.

A hand touched her arm.

"Look," a man's voice said.

"I don't want to," she sobbed, stubbornly staying rolled up in a ball.

"He is lying in bed beside you," Jalboo explained gently. Phryne finally allowed herself to open her lashes. The crypt had disappeared. The man smiled.

"What are you doing in my dreams?" she enquired, peeling herself from the stone. He shrugged.

"However would I know? You put me here."

She stood, looking out over the nightly plains. The sky was almost black.

"Why do I keep dreaming of this place?" she asked when she became aware of the rock underneath her bare feet.

"That is a very good question, Miss Fisher."

She turned to see him grin at her.

"I am glad you are finally asking the right questions."

Phryne opened her mouth, but her eyes snapped open before she had a chance to say anything. Dragging stale air into her lungs, she turned her head.

Jack was indeed lying in bed beside her. His loud, regular snoring made it impossible to miss the fact. She couldn't remember any annoying sound ever being quite this relieving. Phryne rolled over, snuggling up against his back and willing her pounding heart to calm down - before having to retreat a moment later when he stirred, mumbling in his sleep.

He could feel her distress, even now. Phryne couldn't manage to be annoyed with him.

Jack turned, his eyes closed, not waking, yet somehow asking, wondering. She stretched out her hands, gently trailing her thumb over his naked shoulder, along his collarbone before finally laying her palm against his chest where his heart was beating against her touch. She didn't dare close her lashes again. Instead she lay still in the darkness, watching over his sleep. Comforted by her touch, he slipped back into its depth easily, his breath calming.

'The right question.'

But what was the right question? She was almost tempted to go and ask Jalboo himself but then she feared that the real man might have no idea what she was talking about. She had brought him into her dreams to tell her what her mind was too greedy to share. But what on earth was it?

By the time the first light crawled into the room, Phryne had come to a decision. She pressed a kiss to Jack's lips that he returned without waking and slipped from the bed. Phryne looked back at his sleeping frame as she got dressed in the grey dawn. She didn't like leaving him alone, but then what could happen to him while he was lying in a bed?

She didn't like the answers her head returned to the question and left before she could change her mind. The hotel lay in absolute silence when she hurried downstairs.

"Good morning!"

The friendly greeting almost gave her a heart attack. She spun. In one of the heavy leather armchairs sat Robert Wilson, smiling at her. Beside him on the table sat a steaming cup of tea.

"I didn't realise you were an early riser, Mrs. Robinson," he grinned. Phryne returned his smile.

"I am not."

He laughed at this.

"I can tell."

The teacher winked and returned to his newspaper. The Lady-Detective briefly found herself wondering where he had acquired it at this early hour, but then what did it matter? It took her a few minutes to find the Hispano's parking spot. She climbed behind the wheel and moments later car and driver flew through the fresh morning. Fog rose from the fields, causing the Hanging Rock to lie ghostly in the landscape. Phryne didn't bother being scared today. She climbed the path without halting. The stones were slippery with dew where she held on to turn a sharp corner.

"There is no such thing as ghosts," she said loudly to the world that was trying to prove her wrong.

She ducked through the small tunnel provided by a large round rock with a feeling of claustrophobia before climbing higher. Reaching the top she turned on her heels just like an hour ago in her dreams. It wasn't quite right. Her heels slipping on the wet stone she headed further to where the creases deepened. It was... here. Again she spun on the spot. Exactly here.

"So what now?" she asked the world in general. It didn't answer. Huffing, Phryne sat down on a rock, looking out into the landscape. Really it was a peaceful place. Right now she wasn't entirely certain why she was trembling. Her eyes fell onto a particularly deep looking crease she had noticed the other day. One that appeared like the sun never reached it's bottom. The Detective pulled herself to her feet and approached her goal carefully while avoiding to look down a sharp drop. If she'd hurt herself on this expedition, she'd never hear the end of it from Jack - in case she lived to listen to his scolding.

Holding onto a branch she lowered herself to the cut in the stone. When she slipped her glove-less hand inside, her sober mind protested loudly, reminding her of snakes and spiders that might use the chance to kill her. Phryne decided not to concern herself with such anxieties. She felt around the deep crease, but there was nothing but slimy moss and sharp stone to be discovered. Just when she was about to give up, her hand brushed something hard. Releasing a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding, she pulled the piece of metal free from where it might have been lying for decades. It wasn't what she had hoped for. But then she wasn't certain what exactly that was.

Shoving her only possible lead into her pocket, she got back to her feet with a feeling of accomplishment. So, she had found something. That was more than was to be expected. The cool morning was starting to creep underneath her thin trousers, making her grateful for the possibility to crawl back into her warm bed very soon. Considering the bottle of wine Jack had emptied on top of her painkillers it was unlikely that he would decide to rise early. Phryne swallowed down the guilt re-announcing itself. A honest mistake. Could have happened to anyone really.

As if to convince herself she fastened her step where the path lured her towards the hotel and Jack's warm body, when she spotted a dark silhouette against the morning light_._ The woman was standing with her back to her, causing the Detective to shiver in memory.

"No such thing as ghosts," Phryne said quietly to herself, stepping closer in the absolute certainty that she would be proven wrong in a moment. But it wasn't _who _she had expected either. The figure turned, her face pale. Between her hands she was clutching a metal box. Phryne's stopped in her tracks, but her mouth asked the right question:

"Iris?!"


	18. Chapter 17: Sunrise, Sunrise

**Chapter 17: Sunrise, Sunrise**

The two women sat in silence on a rock, each smoking a cigarette.

"Does Rupert know?" Phryne asked. Iris shook her head.

"I planned on getting it over with this morning. He'd never have to know."

Mrs. Robinson considered this.

"I thought Christian's remains were lying in Turkey," she said after a while, staring accusingly at the box holding a few pounds of coarse, grey dust that looked terribly little like a grown man.

"They used to," Iris explained. "His brother Casper traveled there about a year ago. He told me he was going to look for the grave. I didn't realise that this was his plan though." She laughed bitterly.

"Apparently Christian explained to him his wishes in case he didn't come home."

"To be buried here?" Phryne asked.

"For me to spread his ashes where we were most happy. It had to be here."

Silence fell. A misguided bird sang a happy melody somewhere in a tree.

"You need to tell him," Phryne urged, dropping the stub of her gasper and rubbing it out with her heel. "Marriage doesn't take well to secrets of this proportion."

With a tiny shudder the Detective remembered the trouble her own relationship had suffered from much smaller things being hidden.

Iris shrugged.

"He doesn't want to know. I can hardly blame him."

"Don't underestimate his devotion, Iris. A blind person could see it."

Another shrug.

"How can I tell him that the man I loved and married before him has come back?" she asked, tears colouring her voice.

"He's still fitting into a tiny box," Phryne protested a bit louder than she had intended. "Surely Rupert can't be threatened by a few pounds of dust?"

"It's the memories he fears."

Phryne dragged cool morning air into her lungs, lighting another cigarette, trying to think of something that would untangle this chaos of emotions.

"You loved Christian?"

"Of course I did!"

The Detective pondered for a while.

"Taking the risk of offending you further," Phryne finally said to the quiet woman beside her, "would you like to know what I thought when I witnessed Jack with Rosie?"

She could feel Iris' glance on her cheek.

"Do tell," she quipped, obviously willing to run with it. She had been Rosie Sandersons closest friend for many years, a fact that complicated her relationship with Jack's second wife slightly.

"I was incredibly jealous," Phryne smiled, taking another puff. "And I almost lost my mind of fear. Their love, however faded, was blatantly obvious."

That was more honesty than she really liked on an empty stomach, but then this was not the time for guarding ones feelings.

"All the more reason not to tell him," Iris concluded, ready to get to her feet.

"And then I realised that it would have been much worse, if he had never loved her at all," Phryne added calmly. Iris turned in confusion. Her opposite shrugged.

"How could I live with a man who would marry a woman he didn't care about?" A tiny smile spread around her lips as she continued. "Surely Rupert would expect nothing less of you than that you were deeply attached to your first husband?"

Iris chewed on her still make-up less lip. She looked vulnerable in the morning light and Phryne realised that she had never seen Jack's cousin like this. She was a tough woman, strongly opinionated, full of humour and life. So this was her other side. Interesting – and oddly touching.

Wordlessly the brunette got to her feet and Phryne couldn't help but be disappointed. She had laid her feelings bare and as it seemed for nothing.

"As much as I hate to admit it," Iris said, stretching out her hand to help the other woman up. "You are right."

The women shared a smile just when the sun crawled over the hill, dipping them into blinding light.

X

"Would you mind, Miss Aberville, to fetch us some bread from the bakery," Dot asked with a half-yawn. "That would give you a chance to return the locket to your friend," she added.

Nora laughed.

"Of course. Even though I doubt the locket belongs to him. It would be rather silly to wear his own face around his neck, don't you think?"

Dorothy swallowed down any comment. It was only natural that Miss Aberville would have no intention of returning the piece. Dot resolved to actually drop into the bakery herself and see if the man in the picture was in indeed working there. But first she had something else in mind.

She waited until the nurse had left before heading upstairs. Dot stopped briefly in front of her son's door, but Thomas was fast asleep after having screamed much of the night and Hugh was working the early shift, having left at the break of dawn. She was completely alone. Perfect.

Dorothy guessed she had at least 20 minutes before Nora's return. That wasn't much in the light of the chaos that greeted her in the nurse's bedroom though. Books, make-up and half-finished sweetsbags littered every surface. With a hiss of pain Dot had to withdraw her foot that had ended up on a knitting needle stuck in a scarf she was sure she had witnessed her unravel again about a week ago. Where did you start in a place like this?

She carefully lifted the pillow from the bed, a typical place for hiding riches if you were to believe Mrs. Robinson. Nothing but a piece of chocolate stuck to the sheets. Dot sighed and resisted the urge to remove it, instead replacing the piece. She pulled open the bedroom drawer, but again, nothing of value greeted her. Slowly she worked her way through the room, sidestepped all the traps that had been left for her. A ring caught her eye but on closer inspection it was a cheap piece of silver, hardly worth stealing. She heard the door fall shut downstairs, just when she riffled through the desk.

"Mrs. Collins?"

The voice was very close and Dot turned around in a panic, trying to figure out what to do. The cabinet was the only possible option and she managed to pull the door shut just in time before Nora appeared. Through the gap she could see her shed her coat, dropping it onto the messy bed before leaving again. Dorothy allowed herself a sigh of relief before she snuck back out into the hall and towards the nursery.

"There you are."

Nora's voice caused her to jump.

"I called out for you," the girl smiled, showing the gap between her teeth. She really looked nice, Dot thought, somewhat disturbed. It was hard to hate her, even though she was incredibly annoying and – quite possibly – a thief.

"I was just in Tommy's room," she lied. "I thought I heard him stir."

"Well, I bought a half-loaf, freshly baked this morning, Paddy said. Should I make some toast?"

"That would be lovely," Dot smiled. "I'll be down in a minute."

But first she needed to wash some chocolate off that was still stuck to her fingers.

X

No snoring greeted Phryne when she slipped into her room, which was some relief. As much as she enjoyed the fact that Jack was breathing, she also preferred him doing it quietly. Her husband lay completely absorbed in deep sleep across the bed, his head bedded on her pillow. Unable to keep a fond smile from her face, Phryne sat down beside him to take off her shoes. The rest of her clothes followed them onto the floor before she slipped under the covers which currently were dangling off the bed and not leaving much to imagination. She pulled the sheets up to her hips, wondering if to wake Jack. In this position she could hardly snuggle up to him. But then disturbing his rest seemed not a particularly nice thing to do. She bedded her head on his pillow which smelled faintly of her Inspector and stretched out a finger to caress the scar near his kidney's. How he had survived the bullet was still beyond her, despite Mac's attempts to explain to her exactly what damage it had done and more importantly, which it hadn't.

'He has been lucky,' were the words that had stuck with her. 'Lucky' seemed not exactly to describe being left bound in a basement with a gaping bullet wound in ones stomach, Phryne found. But, she guessed in the end, he had been lucky. Lucky enough for a worried mother to send Miss Fisher after her daughter. Lucky enough for Hugh Collins to have spotted the girl and drawn the right conclusions. Lucky enough to survive.

Luck really wasn't good enough.

Phryne sighed, attempting to get comfortable. Her shin slid against the back of his leg, revelling in the warmth of his skin as her limbs moulded against his in a messy knot. But it was all luck, wasn't it? The downside of not believing in a God or fate was that it was all pure luck. That they were here, lying in a bed together was the result of a million right decisions, a billion tiny little accidents. She opened her eyes to let them slip over the hills and craters of Jack's back dipped in morning light.

The sight caused the randomness to lose it's terror, made the realisation that she _was_ in fact lying in this bed, incredibly precious. How hard they had fought for this moment in time.

Phryne pulled herself onto her elbow and gently placed a kiss onto a shoulder blade. Then another. He woke when she started to discover a vertebrae with her lips. She could feel the change in his breathing, but he didn't move and so she just continued to slowly, carefully work down his spine.

Her hand gently placed on his hip, she caressed her greatest treasure with all due adoration. Jack's lashes finally fluttered open when she halted at the small of his back and he very carefully turned in her embrace.

"How is your head, Inspector?" she asked, smiling.

"I'd prefer if we talked about another subject," he groaned, his voice rough with sleep.

"I'd offer you a powder..." Phryne said, grinning.

"Thank you, Miss Fisher, I think I'll pass," he smiled, stroking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Your dark magic seems to get me into trouble more often than not."

Despite his joking about what must be a nasty hangover, his eyes held warmth that caused her to melt against his chest with little resistance.

"Giving you that painkiller was admittedly not my brightest hour," she pointed out quietly, when he appeared willing to just go back to sleep.

"Undeniably," Jack murmured, trailing his fingers through her hair. "But I have rather enjoyed myself last night," he explained with a downwards glance and a smile. "Even though I don't appreciate being drugged."

"It certainly didn't happen on purpose," she protested before becoming aware of the teasing in his statement.

"I'll take your word for it," he grinned, wrapping his arm tighter around her.

There was nothing else to be said, Phryne realised as she listened to his heartbeat. He was fine and she was... still anxious.

She slipped from his grasp and fished on the floor for her handbag. Jack didn't move but opened his eyes curiously. A moment later a small, cold object was placed on his chest, causing him to flinch.

"I've been treasure hunting," his wife explained happily.

He picked up the bent bronze plaque, squinting in an attempt to decipher the meaning of it.

"Some treasure," he yawned, turning the patina covered item and just barely making out a head.

"It looks like a military medal of some sort."

"That's what I thought," Phryne said, snatching her discovery from his fingers. "But then I was hoping for something rather more feminine."

Jack let his hand, which still hung in mid-air, sink without taking his eyes from her.

"Is this about your ghost hunt?" he asked.

She shrugged, suddenly embarrassed.

"I kept dreaming about this one spot on the rock, so I headed there this morning. And I found this." She twirled the bronze in her fingers. Jack cleared his throat.

"Would you please refrain from climbing the place alone in half-darkness." His voice was so serious that she looked up from her inspection of the item. His eyes were shiny and intense and she had to shake off a picture that she had all but forgotten.

"Please," he added.

She swallowed dryly. He had undeniably a point. Even though...

"Hardly alone, Jack," she smiled, placing the medal on his nightstand and crawling back underneath the covers. He watched her with confusion but his arms welcomed her all the same.

"In fact you will never believe who I met up there."

He raised his eyebrows in question and Phryne hesitated for a moment. Despite Iris's explicit permission to fill Jack in – which had taken some convincing – the Detective hadn't really thought about what to tell him. It was a rather delicate matter after all.

"Are you going to share?" he asked impatiently. Phryne grinned.

"Iris and her husband."

The Inspector frowned.

"A romantic morning excursion then? I hadn't taken Rupert for much of an early riser."

Phryne's grin broadened.

"I wasn't talking about Rupert."


	19. Chapter 18: Coffee And Compliments

**Chapter 18: Coffee And Compliments**

Silence was hanging over the breakfast table when the Detectives arrived. Iris looked up from where she had been spreading jam on her toast for the past five minutes absorbed in deep thought. Her eyes sought out Jack. He nodded slightly, barely noticeable really. So Phryne had lost no time in telling him. She wasn't certain how to feel about that. Rupert had been uncharacteristically quiet all morning. He had been still asleep when she'd returned, but the language of his resting body leaving little doubt about him having noticed her absence and despising her for her secrecy. It made telling him all the harder.

"Has Jane not come down yet?" Phryne asked, noting the empty seat across from her.

"She has already finished," John informed her, yawning. He also looked a little worse for wear this morning. His involuntary shower had resulted in him having to battle off Miss Green and her well-meant glass of brandy. Or possibly she had just been trying to kill him. If, however, he had accepted the alcoholic offering he may have faced strangulation by his son, who took John's heart-condition even more serious than his murder investigations. Not that John had actually wanted to take that glass from her hands all that much. But it was a good drop and he had been freezing and... possibly he had wanted to accept so badly that he'd fought her off with a rather rude comment. One that hadn't let him get a wink of sleep last night.

"More coffee?" Mia Green asked behind him.

"Please," he nodded before realising that she hadn't been talking to him. She filled several cups, none of them his.

"Would you care to serve me to or are our personal differences enough to keep you from your occupation?" he heard himself ask, when she skipped over him to pour a pale Jack some much needed coffee.

"Personal differences?" she asked, leaning over his shoulder to finally attend to the empty china sat in front of him. "I don't recall being personal enough to have differences with you, Mr. Robinson."

The cup filled to the very brim, she retreated. John scowled at his drink. He would certainly not fit sugar or milk. But he was damned if he'd be defeated this easily. Carefully balancing the dangerous liquid, he raised it to his lips, glanced in triumph at her across the rim of his cup – then burned his lips on the scolding hot drink.

"Oh, for Christ's sake!"

Hot coffee spilled over his fingers, while heads flew up at his loudly voiced curse, causing him to all but drop the cup into it's saucer. A tiny smirk appeared on Mia Green's face before she hurriedly retreated into the kitchen, doubtlessly to share this tale with her co-workers.

"Father?" Jack asked. John realised that he had been target of some concerned questions and many more outraged looks and whispers.

"I can't believe they would serve coffee this hot," he spat, wiping his burning fingers on his napkin before standing and slapping the piece of fabric down. "I think I am done."

He retreated before the angry flush on his face could betray him.

"Well, that was an interesting display," Phryne quipped, sharing a look with Mac across the table. Her friend looked tired, she noted. Jack got to his feet before she could enquire deeper into this thought.

"I'd better go and see if he's all right," he said, flinching as his head protested the sudden change of altitude. Phryne took his hand, holding him back.

"It's just a hangover," his eyes explained calmly, like speaking to a very thick child. She let him slip away reluctantly. Hazel inspected her watch while finishing her tea.

"The race starts in three hours, we had better get ready soon."

She also didn't look like she had slept much, Phryne realised with some amusement. Maybe Jack and she weren't the only ones using the possibilities of a strange bed to it's fullest.

"I'm excited, aren't you, darling?"

Iris's enthusiasm convinced nobody, including herself and Phryne watched her sister share a concerned look with Mac.

"Terribly," Rupert smiled grimly. "I can't wait."

Silence fell as everybody continued eating without attempting any more pretence of happiness. Jack returned a few minutes later, a line of anger drawn between his brows.

"Any luck?" Phryne whispered as he sat to grimly sip on his cup of coffee – his only form of breakfast as she noted.

"I was unable to draw anything from him beside more raving about the 'insufferable woman'," he explained. "He is convinced that she's caused him to burn himself on purpose."

"That shows some imagination," Phryne grinned, who hadn't missed that John's cup had been a lot fuller than anyone else's. Having been at the receiving end of her father-in-law's moods before she was certainly not going to lay blame. And she did enjoy resourcefulness in a woman.

"Is everything to your satisfaction?" a friendly female voice asked. In difference to their party, Rosemary Wilson looked like life itself in a pretty spring dress whose pattern of pink flowers reminded only slightly of the bed-covers upstairs.

"Perfectly," Phryne smiled, when nobody else seemed willing to answer. "I hope your mother is better?"

"She has woken refreshed and ready for the race," Rosemary explained happily. "Only slightly disappointed that she missed last night."

"It was a wonderful celebration," Hazel explained with more enthusiasm than she felt.

"Despite some minor incidents," Jack added, smirking, to the disgruntlement of his wife.

"Which were hardly the fault of our hosts."

"No, _they_ didn't attempt to poison their guests," Mac threw in dryly. Her friend shot her a scolding look.

"I am glad you've enjoyed yourselves," Rosemary said, her smile looking a little thinner than a minute ago. "My husband also sends his regards, he won't join us today."

"He hasn't taken ill as well, has he?" Hazel asked.

"No, no. I'm afraid he is working. The new principle at his school doesn't hold much with horse races and betting."

"That's a shame," Phryne smiled politely, sorting this information away. She hadn't been aware that Robert Wilson was a teacher but then it explained a lot. "But for an occupation one enjoys that is a sacrifice worth making."

A shadow crept over Rosemary's face.

"He does," she said, in a non-committal tone of voice that woke Phryne's curiosity. Their host was called away before they had the chance to dig any deeper into the subject and they rose a minute later to finally get ready for the big race. Phryne also intended on speaking to Jane and see if the girl was doing all right. She hadn't seen much of her daughter in the last couple days and she couldn't help but be curious what was on the girl's mind. Just when they reached the door, a firm hand grasped her arm.

"I need to speak to the two of you," Mac whispered. "Our room in ten?"

Phryne couldn't do anything but nod, as she watched her friend climb the stairs beside Hazel. They seemed to walk a little further apart than usual.

X

"We'll have no choice but to win, now that Harper's 'inconvenienced," the man leaning casual in the door frame pointed out. Ferguson huffed.

"Bit of a shame really for all the hard work of convincing him."

"He's an imbecile and no amount of talking to will fix that," Packard grumbled from where he sat in an armchair."

"Spoken like a true family man," Torres grinned. "But your beloved nephew is out of the race, either way."

"Maybe O'Neill's old mare should've met her maker as well," his friend mumbled, sipping on a glass.

"O'Neill's too confident," Ferguson explained calmly. "He has no chance and he knows it. I expect your friend has been paid and is fully aware of his responsibilities?"

Torres hinted a salute.

"Fully."

"We have nothing to worry about then," the elder man said, straightening his lapels. "Woodend's future lies in our hands."

"I'd prefer if you'd kept the fancy speeches for them," Packard grumbled, downing the rest of his glass.

Ferguson rolled his eyes at the butcher.

"You really have no sense for drama, Nathan."

"I'm just over the scoundrel flooding this place," the butcher grumbled. "I'd rather quit the games and just get on with it."

Ferguson sighed.

"You're impatience is only matched by the lack of brain in your skull."

The butcher straightened while Wade Torres grinned.

"Time to set the wolf amongst the sheep then."

"May the best man win," Ferguson grinned into the mirror. There was no doubt who he considered the only possible winner in this scenario.

X

"Are you ready, Son?"

Luke sighed.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

The excitement about the race was dampened by the ball of lead taking up most of the space in his stomach. He had been to Harper's station this morning in an attempt at talking to Grace. He had been informed she wasn't in. He knew her duties bound her to the farm until at least 8 o'clock. The cut in his hand throbbed painfully. Then again she might have been preparing for the race. Luke was still shocked about her appearance at the training. While Grace was undeniably a much better rider than her husband, the race was traditionally for men only. It wasn't a rule that had been ever spoken out loud for the simple reason that nobody had ever dared touch it. And that Aidan would watch on while his wife broke the rules seemed highly unlikely.

Despite his worry, Luke also felt excitement bubble about her boldness. He was almost tempted to give her an advantage in the race, but then there was more at stake. And... she wouldn't appreciate it, he knew. So instead he would give her the race of a lifetime. If she indeed should showed her face. It wasn't beyond Aidan to lock her into her room like a cheeky child if he didn't approve of her participation. But then, Harper also knew what they were racing for.

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

"You're going to win today, my son," Pete said, matter-of-factly.

"There is some good jockey's there," Luke argued.

"None as good as you."

His son didn't argue any further. It was rare that Pete O'Neill would allow himself to openly show his love and those moments usually left him speechless and very grateful. Luke turned. He was ready.

"Thank you, Father," he said, without a word leaning in and wrapping the stunned older man into a hug. Leaving the room he missed the tears shimmering in a pair of light blue eyes.

X

She could feel Jack's heavy breath in her neck as he leaned over her shoulder, reading. Phryne let the the letter sink.

"That's a very clear threat," she stated. Mac nodded. Hazel was sat on the edge of the bed, looking shaken.

"I assume you haven't spoken to the local police?" the Inspector asked.

"Of course not. They would hardly take this seriously."

He nodded with his jaw clenched. While the law generally came down hard on men committing 'sodomy', the fact that females shared sexual encounters or, God forbid, loving relationships, was simply ignored by the constabulary. And any attacks on homosexual couples were simply swept under the carpet.

"I wonder..."

"How they could know?" Hazel asked coldly. "Because we made a mistake by sharing a room."

"That's hardly real evidence," Phryne said.

Mac huffed.

"As if anyone ever cared for 'real evidence' on the matter if prejudice will suffice."

"But that would mean that our hosts could be behind this," the Inspector pointed out.

The spouses shared a look. That thought wasn't a particularly nice one.

"I can hardly see Mrs. Wilson or Miss Green write us nasty letters," Hazel stated. "Or Mr. Wilson for that matter."

"They seem to severely lack spitefulness towards you," Phryne said slowly, remembering several animated conversations in the last days. "Maybe one of their staff?"

"Or Mrs. Tattler?" Mac pointed out.

They still hadn't met Miss Green's sister, who, as they had figured out by now, answered to the name of Felicity – a name that made them suspect that the Greens had hoped for their daughters to aim at a different place in life than a small hotel in Victoria's countryside.

"You believe she is avoiding us on purpose?" Phryne asked.

"If this is her doing then it wouldn't surprise me," Mac huffed, taking the letter from Phryne's hands and attempting to tear it to shreds. Her friend stopped her.

"We'll need that."

"What for?"

"I assume you want us to find the culprit? Isn't that what you asked us here for?"

The lovers shared a look.

"I was trying to convince Mac to return to Melbourne," Hazel said quietly.

"And give them what they want? Definitely not!"

"With all respect for your wish to make a point," the until now mostly quiet Jack cut in, "the author of this might be dangerous."

Phryne pondered their options while Mac and the Inspector were busy staring each other down.

"Stay for the race," she finally proposed. "Show yourselves to those cowards. And we head home first thing tomorrow morning. Or even tonight, if you wish."

Nobody was willing to argue with that and they split to get back to their preparations. But instead of heading to their room, Phryne was strolling down the hall towards the stairs.

"We _are_ going to be late," Jack pointed out. She shrugged.

"Don't let me stop you," she smiled. "I am going to have a little word with Felicity Tattler."

"You are not going to harm her, are you?" Jack asked, naturally following her.

"If she's written this abomination of a letter, I am making no promises," Phryne growled to his grin. As it turned out the owner of the hotel had nothing to fear. She was already at the racetrack, a concerned looking Rosemary informed them.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" she asked.

"In fact there is," Jack answered. "Would you mind if we had a brief look into your office?"

A frown appeared on the pretty face.

"For any particular reason?"

"Part of our investigation," Phryne smiled grimly.

"In that case – of course. Even though I don't understand."

"We will let you know as soon as we find something," the Inspector promised in a voice of authority that Mrs. Wilson couldn't argue with. They were led to the small office they already knew and left to their own devices.

"I assume we are looking for a comparison of hand-writing?" Phryne asked, riffling through a folder.

Jack didn't feel the need to answer that. For several minutes they worked in silence. Plenty of people seemed to be involved in the writing of letters and bills in the hotel and all of them were neatly filed. They didn't find a single hand that was anywhere near the coarse curls on the paper.

"Nothing," Phryne sighed, slopping down into a chair. She didn't receive an answer. When she looked up, she found Jack staring in full concentration into a folder.

"Interesting reading material, Jack?"

"Protocols of council meetings," he mumbled without taking his eyes from the page. "It appears our Mr. Wilson is also the clerk to the town council."

Phryne snuck closer, trying to get a glimpse into what he was reading. It was quickly apparent that the protocol that had caught Jack's interest was turning around the proposed train lines.

"The list of members is interesting," she pointed out. "A few familiar names."

"It certainly fits with Luke O'Neill's suspicion. If Harper and he are busy arguing with each other they make for a lot less of an opposition to Ferguson and his friends."

"Not that Harper seemed particularly willing to argue much with Ferguson," Phryne mumbled, thinking of the evening before. A knock interrupted them.

"Rosemary, I am heading out to the ra... oh. I didn't expect you here," Miss Green smiled.

"Looking into your case," Phryne said quickly, taking the folder from Jack's hands and shoving it into her handbag with complete nonchalance. "But we are about to leave."

"Oh, good," Mia said weakly, "I was about to lock up the office before we all depart for the race. You never know who will go through your paperwork if you aren't careful."

"Indeed, Miss Green," Jack grinned, as he walked past her. The elder woman stood a moment, squinting after the retreating Detectives before she finally turned the key.


	20. Chapter 19: Like Heaven's Thunder

**Chapter 19: Like Heaven's Thunder  
**

Hugh could feel her eyes borrowing into him. Luckily his lunch was too good to take much notice of Dottie's stare.

"What is it?" he asked, when he had finished his second sandwich and couldn't ignore her any longer.

The phone rang before she'd had a chance to answer.

"City South Polic-"

He lifted his hand at his wife, which really was quite pointless she thought as she watched him listen to a rambling female voice. She could tell that he was on the phone after all.

"Yes, Mrs. Cooper, I am sure-"

He rolled his eyes in a comical way and Dot felt giggles rising in her throat despite herself.

"Mrs. Cooper, I am sure your sheets will reappear... yes, I am certain... No, of course, I am not ignoring your complaint."

The voice raved on.

"Please come in and we will fill a report."

He finally hung up with a great sigh.

"I can only hope that she remembers where her washing baskets are before I have to add another report to her pile."

He stared miserably at a stack of paperwork at least five inches high then turned to find his wife pressing her palm to her mouth, her shoulders trembling.

"It's not funny," he protested. "Especially not anymore since her neighbor had himself a telephone connected."

"Of course not, Hugh," Dot pressed out, turning a shade of bright red in an attempt to contain her laughter. "I've just forgotten what you deal with on a daily basis."

"You are making fun of me, aren't you?" he asked, somewhat miffed.

She shook her head, causing a slight tousle to her hairdo.

"Not at all, Hugh."

He wasn't certain if he believed her but she seemed in the best of mood as she repacked her basket.

"I shall see you tonight," she grinned, brushing a kiss to his cheek and out the door she was. He looked a little stunned after her, before he shrugged and returned to his work with the distinct feeling that he had dodged a marital bullet.

X

After several changes of dress – and hat – Phryne finally settled on one outfit and Jack stared at his watch in impatience.

"You know, we could have still made it in time, if you could decide what you'd like to wear, Miss Fisher," he pointed out, yawning. Sitting down had been a decidedly bad choice he realised. The hangover, even though having by refraining from making his stomach heave at the mere thought of food, was still lingering.

"Oh, poppycock," Phryne grinned, fishing for her handbag. "We have plenty of time."

"Less than an hour," Jack grumbled, grabbing his hat.

"As I said, plenty of time," she teased as they left their room behind. John came towards them in the hall, looking worried.

"Have you seen Jane?" he asked, panting from rushing up the stairs. The Detectives looked at each other, shaking their heads simultaneously.

"Not at all this morning," Jack added for good measure.

"She was meant to meet me ten minutes ago down in the hall," John explained. "And nobody has seen her since breakfast."

Phryne's stomach made a painful salto, leaving a burning trail across her intestines. She was racing to unlock the connecting door before her brain had had time for a sober thought. Jane's room was decidedly empty.

"Have you talked to the hotel staff?" she asked, breathlessly spinning on her heels.

"Of course. There is barely anyone here though," the older man pointed out. "Everybody is at the race."

"What about the others?"

"They are waiting downstairs - just as worried," John added for good measure.

They both turned to where Jack was standing, grey colouring his face, his hand clutching a piece of colourful paper that had been ripped out of a notebook.

"She's looking for the tree," he said, shoving the note at his wife. She read quickly.

"But-"

"I shouldn't have told her about it," Jack added, remembering a weak moment during dinner in the last night, already pleasantly tipsy, when he had shared their afternoon discovery with his daughter – and everybody else willing to listen.

"It's quite a hike, over to the rock," John pointed out needlessly.

"And she might not be following the street," Jack added.

Phryne couldn't care about either of their arguments, she was already running down the hall. The two men chased after her with only a moment's delay.

A mere two minutes later two cars flew through the hot afternoon. They had decided to split up, with the group around Rupert cover the streets and paths between here and the rock, while Phryne, John and Jack would head straight for the tree and spread their search from there.

The Lady-Detective did her best to concentrate on driving and keep her spinning thoughts from complete melt-down. After all Jane had just gone for an extended walk.

"We have neglected her," she said, realising too late that she had spoken out loud. "I was so obsessed with ghosts and horses and stupid train lines that I forgot about my daughter!"

Jack hand was laid on her knee in a calming gesture, but without a word. The Inspector was currently too busy with his own guilt to argue. They had barely spent time with Jane during their trip and he still couldn't get over having told her of the tree, knowing how great her interest was in both, plants and murder.

"Oh, what nonsense!" John's voice cut through both their dark pondering.

Jack glanced at him darkly, but his father had no intention of leaving him to his brooding.

"Jane spent much of this trip with me and the others. She was certainly not bored, if that's what you are trying to tell yourselves. She went sleuthing because she wanted to, not because either of you didn't hold her hand this morning!"

There was silence while they struggled with the truth of his words.

"I forbid her clearly to get involved," Phryne huffed, now feeling anger grow on top of her intense worry.

"Yes, well. She is a chip of the old block, isn't she?" John grinned proudly, holding his face in the hot wind. They arrived a moment later at the foot of the small mountain. Today there was no landscape peaceful enough to distract from the gathering crowd, but neither of them had any head for it. They rushed towards the much quieter area where the sheep came up right to the rock. A curious Ewe eyes them without interrupting her lunch as they raced past to where the tree stood high against the sky.

Phryne almost fainted with relief as she spotted a girl sitting in it's shadow, chewing on an apple.

"Jane!"

Her daughter looked up curiously and must have taken in the expressions as she jumped to her feet, running towards them.

"What happened?" she asked, when they arrived, huffing and puffing. She was pulled into a pair of arms with no hesitance nor answer.

"You silly girl!" Phryne all but sobbed into her ear. She felt a second pair of arms wrap around both of them and things clicked in her head.

"What on earth were you thinking?" Jack hissed beside her ear, his voice muffled from burying his face in her hair, his eyes squeezed shut in endless relief.

"I was only looking for the tree," she protested, struggling out of both her parent's grasps. "And I left you a note!"

"This is not the place you want to wander off to on your own!" Jack scolded with a slight sense of deja vu and little hope that either of his women would listen. His heart was still pounding in his chest while he reluctantly retreated.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Jane apologized, now sounding close to crying, "I was so intrigued by the writing on this tree, I just wanted to see it for myself."

Phryne caressed her girl's cheek and wiping a tear from her eye.

"It's all right," she said, turning to Jack, who had some colour returning to his face. John in the back was grinning broadly in stark contrast.

"So, what have you found then?" he asked, when her parents were just willing to escort her back to the car. "You came here to sleuth, didn't you? And you're a clever girl. So spit it out already."

Jane's eyes flitted from one face of worried parent to another before she gulped.

"I was thinking that... the arrangement of names is really odd," she said after a long moment of hesitance. "And I also found a date."

The two Detectives shared a glance.

"Are you sure?" Phryne asked, already on her way to the tree trunk.

"It's here, look."

Indeed there were tiny, hard to make out curls carved into the bark, quite a bit aside from the two prominent names.

"And look, one of the names is much smaller. 'Evie' is really big in comparison to her lover. Why would two lovers not put their names down equally?"

Phryne could think of a fair few reasons for that, but then the date intrigued her more at the current point in time.

"16-03-1899," Jack whispered beside her his fingers trailing over the bark with complete gentleness as if he could answer the questions if he'd just know every dip of it. Briefly Phryne found herself wondering if that was behind his urge to touch her. A wish to solve her enigma. She shook off the nonsense her sleep-deprived brain had come up with quickly.

"It doesn't ring any bells," she explained calmly. "But we should probably ask Miss Green if the date was of any significance."

"If it was capturing a moment of love, it likely wouldn't be of significance to anyone else."

Phryne shrugged, glancing at Jane, who seemed to have lost interest in her discovery and discussed the horses to watch with her grandfather. It made her realise that they were about to miss the race and that Rupert and the girls were still somewhere searching for Jane. They left the Kurrajong to the warm summer day, heading back for the track.

Their family wasn't searching any more as it turned out. The black car was parked and door slammed shut, just when they arrived again on the main road.

"Jane?" Iris waved. "Thank God they found you."

The girl found herself hugged to another perfume smelling chest.

"You know, I wasn't actually missing," she said pointedly, when she could breath again. That didn't stop Hazel from pulling her into a half embrace though.

"We shall refrain from worrying about you next time," Rupert stated dryly, his face betraying relief. "And just leave you to the snakes and spiders."

"I am not scared of them," Jane stated proudly. "In difference to other people."

"How has this now turned back to me?" Hazel asked no one in particular, taking her niece by the shoulder and leading her happily chattering down to the racecourse. Phryne took the arm of her best friend, who looked a little lost.

"She seems to take it well," she whispered for only her to hear.

"She's not," Mac stated with clenched teeth. "Lets get this over with and get out of here."

Phryne nodded. This whole trip had turned from fun into a bit of a nightmare. And while she didn't like leaving unsolved cases behind, a horse murder and a ghostly woman wouldn't keep her from returning to Melbourne. Her house in St. Kilda seemed a safe haven in comparison and with a start she realised that she was feeling really home sick. They would leave right this afternoon, she decided, not a minute to lose.

The loud, colourful crowd they dipped into knew nothing of her worries. John disappeared somewhere, probably to put a bet down. He enjoyed a touch of gambling. Phryne would have liked to know who he put his money on. In the distance she spotted Luke O'Neill, who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, Bill Ferguson stood beside him, seemingly friendly chattering, but Phryne had a suspicion that that wasn't the whole truth. Packard was on the other end of the pack, glaring at both of them. Harper wasn't there. Of course not, he had no horse to ride. But neither was his wife and God, _did_ she have a horse. Phryne felt anger bubble. She could just imagine what fate Grace and Athena's racing plans had found.

A hand touched her shoulder and a glass of champagne was pressed into her fingers.

"Maybe you should make an attempt at pretending that you are enjoying yourself," Jack whispered beside her ear.

"What for?" she asked, honestly flabbergasted.

"No reason at all, Miss Fisher."

She glanced at his tiny grin and his empty hands.

"You aren't drinking anything?"

"My head hasn't recovered from my last encounter with wine just yet," he smiled, looking at the riders who were collecting at the start line. He seemed mostly fine, despite the slight crease between his brows that he got when he was worried or suffering from a headache like right now. There was colour to his face now, possibly even a hint of excitement. Also a fading bruise that seemed to have gotten darker again with the return of blood to his skin.

"Look," she heard Jane's excited voice. She followed her finger to where a blonde woman on horseback flew towards the racetrack. A murmur went through the crowd as Grace Harper and Athena lined up between the waiting men, just moments before the starting shot. One man broke lose from it, storming towards them.

"I don't think Harper is happy," Jack pointed out quietly.

But it was too late already. The shot fell, bodies flew across the line. For a long moment it looked like Ferguson was going to take the lead, but O'Neill on Mary pulled past him. Athena, having barely just stopped had trouble getting back into her stride and hung at the back of the field followed by Packard, whose skinny horse still looked rather lost between the proud animals surrounding it. In the first curve one of the travelling jockey's, who Phryne knew by now answered to the name of Marco Benini and had indeed been a charming flirt back in the day, had taken the lead with a horse length between himself and Luke, followed by Trent Copper, a farmer from Newham and another professional, whose name and face the Lady-Detective couldn't remember any more. In the middle-field flew Ferguson's stallion, chased by Grace, who might have lost her spirit somewhat at the angry face of her husband. But then she didn't seem worried just yet. Athena definitely wasn't, she had finally found a rhythm and chased after the horses in front with the playfulness of a foal. Which was funny really, because there was another filly on the track who seemed to be made of the same stuff, Jack noted in the back of his mind, while he watched the spectacle with his breath held. Oblivious to his thoughts, Athena raced with flying hoofs past several horses. Luke shot a quick look over his shoulder to where Grace's hair fluttered in the wind. His heart skipped a beat at the sight, a hundred memories flooding back of them chasing over the fields as children. He could almost taste the freedom of those days and pushed Mary harder. His horse didn't hesitate and seemingly effortlessly raced past Benini, who fell back, trying his riding crop on his black Arabian but in vain. Seconds later Athena also left them for death. The crowd had grown loud at the stunning view of the two brown horses battling out the victory between them. Luke bit his lip in effort. He couldn't lose this, yet the idea of seeing Grace win this held an undeniable sweetness. Mrs. Harper on the other hand harboured no such thoughts. With gritted teeth she pushed her filly past all limits, sweat pouring down both horse and rider as they approached the end of the race. Luke decided against any foul play, instead hurrying Mary towards the finish line with everything he had at his disposal. An equine head appeared in his field of sight- Benini and his gelder hadn't given up just yet and when the farmer turned, he realised that Ferguson was also catching up. That wouldn't do!

Mary had no intention of letting anyone past her, her legs flew over the grass in a blur of nutmeg, her mane fluttering in the wind. The ease with which she carried her heavy owner was breathtaking. But Athena was still up front, even though all three horses were catching up to her.

"Run!" Grace heard Luke yell when Mary pulled alongside her, not sure if he was screaming at his horse – or her? But Athena seemed to get the point, she sped up once more, Mary right with her and both horses flew over the finish line almost simultaneously, only a split second before Benini finished third and Ferguson fourth. Athena made it almost halfway down the length before she decided to finally stop. Luke approached on Mary and Grace stiffened. He would fight her for this, wouldn't he?

"You won!" he ground out, still out of breath. "Congratulations, Grace, you won!"

The smile spreading across his face belied his words. He had just lost the race, a race he had murdered for and he seemed exhilarated rather than upset. She had to avert her eyes to not burst into tears. Someone else came rushing towards them, a short man.

"Miss, I'm terribly sorry, but we cannot accept your win."

"What d'you mean? She finished first. Everybody saw it!" Luke argued hotly. Across the track his eyes found Harper's. Aidan was obviously spewing.

The crowd by now was going mental. They had expected good entertainment, but that was too much. Grace carefully climbed to the ground.

"Leave it, Luke. I wasn't registered."

"You couldn't have been, Miss. Women aren't allowed to participate," the short man puffed.

Now Ferguson joined the group.

"What seems to be the problem?" he asked.

"The Lady wasn't on the list," the man explained, looking more and more like he wanted to die on the spot.

"And why ever not?" Ferguson asked, causing several heads to snap up to him. "She rode brilliantly."

"I'm sorry, Sir, but we'll have to disqualify her. Those are the rules."

"Oh, nonsense. This is our race and we make the rules!" Ferguson said. "Gracey here has had a brilliant race and we won't have her be disqualified for some silly rule, will we O'Neill?"

His smile was friendly but his eyes caused Luke to freeze under his stare. Nevertheless the farmer nodded.

"I definitely will not accept anyone as the winner but Mrs. Harper," he explained stiffly. He sought out Grace's eyes and they shared their confusion for a moment. Ferguson speaking up for a woman was far from a usual occurance.

"This is outrageous. Who allowed her to ride?" Packard screamed, just arriving.

"She didn't only ride, she won," Ferguson pointed out sharply, causing his friend to fall into a grumpy silence.

Harper had approached quietly, now laying a hand on his wife's shoulder.

"I can't believe you would do this to me," he hissed beside her ear. "We are going to be the talking point of the whole town."

"And so we should be. We just won the race," she explained sweetly, brushing his hand off herself. Grace was confused, tired, angry and worst of all: She didn't know what to do now. She had participated just to show Luke that he couldn't win by foul play and Aidan that she wasn't willing to sit at home and pretend she didn't care. But now... everything was spinning out of control and the only people who seemed on her side were Ferguson – who she didn't trust as far as she could spit – and Luke, who she had meant to upset. Before she knew what was going on she and Athena were swept away, decorated and celebrated as the winner of the Hanging Rock Race. It all happened in a bit of a blur, but what she would remember were Luke's brown eyes firmly attached to her with deep pride mirrored in them – and a complete contrast to Aidan's dark scowl.


	21. Chapter 20: Misfortune's Fool

**Good evening, my beloved readers. It's been a long, long day, but in the hope that some of you are waiting for it, another chapter. Please enjoy and drop me a line if you have any thoughts on the matter, good or bad. Until tomorrow. **

**Chapter 20: Misfortune's Fool  
**

Once the attention on her subsided, Grace gently dug her heels into Athena and on her horse's back slipped away into the afternoon. There was so much on her mind to be sorted. A pair of blue eyes followed her from the crowd.

"I don't thinks she enjoyed her win much," Jane said.

"Technically she didn't win," Jack explained. "Women aren't allowed to participate in registered races."

"Well, it seems she has though," Phryne stated happily, sipping on her glass. "A bit of a bend in the rules has never hurt anyone."

"Why does that not surprise me to hear from you, Miss Fisher?"

Jack couldn't conceal his amusement and was punished directly with a kiss. Jane rolled her eyes at her parents.

"Would you please stop that? Grumps is returning."

Her grandfather indeed looked rather annoyed.

"Barely fair to lose money on a winner who wasn't registered," he grumbled.

"That sounds like some bagmen might get lynched," Jack grinned. He didn't like the bookmakers much.

"They are paying out for O'Neill as the winner. Since it had been his victory if the girl hadn't snatched it from underneath his nose," John explained.

"I take it, you didn't bet on Mary?" Iris asked with a faint grin.

"I've put my money down on Benini and Melchior," the old man explained grumbling. "Bit of a let-down they were."

"Well, Father, I hope you've learned your lesson," Jack quipped, straightening his hat.

"Never trust a woman not to show up at the most inconvenient of times," John grumbled.

"Did you enjoy the race?" a voice asked from behind him.

"It was highly exciting," Phryne smiled at Miss Green, who looked flushed and glowing.

"Good on Grace for showing the men what she's made off," the elder woman said, unable to hide her pride before it turned into a slight frown. "Just a shame that Aidan couldn't get over himself."

"The runner up seemed a very good sport about it," Hazel pointed out.

"Luke is a darling, I'm afraid," Rosemary pushed in, stepping beside her aunt, "too good for this world." She grinned. "But then he might also be slightly biased when it comes to Grace."

"They are good friends?" Phryne asked, her attention perking despite her displayed nonchalance.

"They have been since they were children," Mia Green explained, her frown deepening. Her niece seemed oblivious to her reluctance on the subject, taking enjoyment in having some gossip to share.

"He was sweet on her some years ago; it was so obvious to anyone but Grace. I really did think they'd tie the knot as soon as he could get over his nerve and ask her. And then she turned around and married Aidan instead."

"That at least explains the men's dislike of each other," the Inspector stated thoughtfully. Mia smiled thinly.

"Thwarted love with do that, Inspector."

Jack nodded at this. He was getting used to the bite-sized information Miss Green provided. And it was all very interesting but not particularly helpful. So, O'Neill hated Harper for having snatched away the woman he'd hoped to marry. Was that a reason to murder a horse and then frame himself, a decade or so later? Or was it all connected with his aunt after all? Phryne's gut was barely ever mistaken and it announced itself very forcefully in this case. He remembered something.

"Miss Green, does the 16th of March 1899 stir up any memories?" he asked.

She tilted her head in question.

"Should it, Inspector?"

"It was carved in the tree bark, together with the two names we mentioned earlier," Phryne explained. Miss Green frowned while her niece watched on in stunned silence. The Robinson's family didn't pay much attention to the exchange, they were used to Jack and Phryne asking odd questions. Only Jane listened to every word, while Hazel excused herself. She had had a few glasses of champagne in excitement over the race and then some more in celebration of Mrs. Harper's win.

"That must be wrong," Mia thought aloud. "I am absolutely certain that Evie was gone by then. Aidan was born in November 1897 and she would have left less than a year later. He was still tiny when I became his nurse."

The Detectives stared at her in confusion.

"Maybe the date wasn't related to the names?" Phryne asked slowly. "It was quite separate."

"Excuse me for a moment...!"

Miss Green hurried off without another word and little later brought back a woman much heavier set than herself. They merely shared the eyes and some facial features. Despite the lack of resemblance neither of the people were really surprised at the following explanation.

"My sister Felicity," Mia panted. "Fefe, may I introduce the two Detectives I told you about."

The friendly face burst into a smile.

"How do you do? What a pleasure to finally meet you."

Her eyes were warm, her handshake a little too firm. Miss Green continued to introduce one after one of the Robinson's Clan. When the introductions reached Mac, Phryne paid close attention to Mrs. Tattler's body language. But there wasn't a flinch or hesitance as she shook the Doctor's hand and aimed a joke at her. So, Felicity Tattler could be crossed off the list of suspects. She hadn't written the spiteful letter.

"We were wondering if you could help us shed some light on the mystery of your friend's disappearance," the Inspector asked Mrs. Tattler, once she had shaken all offered hands and made enough small-talk to last the rest of the day. He briefly recounted their findings on the tree.

"If my memory isn't playing up Evie was long gone by then, wasn't she?" Mia asked her sister, who looked gobsmacked. Unnoticed, Hazel returned to the group, the paleness of her skin only seen by Mac. She discreetly grasped her lover's hand without asking questions.

"Of course she was!"

"And yet, her name along with Lucas's on the tree."

"Lucas?" Felicity asked. "Who is Lucas? Her lover's name was Louie."

Phryne frowned.

"Are you certain of this?"

"Very. I have a very good memory for details," Felicity Tattler answered. "It was Louie, by the life of my daughter."

Her daughter didn't look particularly pleased with that exclaim, but the Detectives had no time to ponder that. Jack gently pulled his wife away to whisper something to her.

"Maybe we really are hunting ghosts, Phryne. We have to face the possibility that it was another Evie, with another lover, sitting underneath that tree."

Phryne wanted to protest but she couldn't deny that he was making sense. Maybe it was time to stop and go home. She turned, suddenly very tired.

"Thank you, Mrs. Tattler. I think we might have been on the wrong trail after all."

The Detective realised that she didn't have anyone's attention. Instead all eyes were glued to the two men who were glaring at each other not ten metres away from them in postures that promised an imminent fight.

"How? How would I have put her up to this? She doesn't even speak to me!"

"As if it mattered. You've always found a way to manipulate her, O'Neill."

Luke, who had made an attempt at walking away, spun on his heels, his dark eyes glittering angrily.

"Keep your mouth shut!" he hissed. "You know nothing about..."

He swallowed down the rest of the sentence.

"About what? You and Grace? There is nothing to know and wouldn't you love it to be different?"

The mockery in Harper's voice caused the audience to hold their breaths in expectation. But Luke O'Neill sucked some air into his lungs, holding onto his composure by the very skin of his teeth.

"You know," he finally said with traitorous calmness, "I never understood how such a clever woman could be so utterly stupid on her wedding day."

Whatever had held back the two men, snapped like an overstretched rubber band, meeting it's limit. A fist flew, hands tore on shirt collars, Phryne felt the air move beside her as the Inspector's frame raced towards the brawling men. From the other side Rupert ran towards them across the grass.

"Enough!"

Jack's voice rose over the crowd as he pulled on an elbow, while Rupert ripped on Harper's hand which had entangled itself in O'Neill's necktie. It was unfortunate timing and happened too fast for anyone to react. Aidan released his opponent, causing Luke to stumble backwards, where unluckily the Inspector was positioned in an attempt to pull him away. With a pained gasp the Inspector released him and doubled over, tears shooting into his eyes. Phryne arrived by his side before the blood really started pouring.

"Jack?"

The hissing sound of air being drawn through clenched teeth was the only answer she received for the time being. The two farmers just stared at the bent man, panting in righteous anger, Rupert still hanging off Haper's arm.

"Harper! C'mon, time to go and cool down."

The words were uttered by Bill Ferguson, who took his reluctant friend and dragged him on the shoulder away from where Jack's blood was dripping into the grass. Phryne was crouched down beside him, attempting a closer look, but his hand was stubbornly clutched over his nose.

"I am so sorry!" Luke finally awoke from his frozen state. "It wasn't my intention to hit you!"

"Well, that's a relief," Jack ground out, feeling if his nose was broken. When he finally pulled himself upright, his face was drenched in bright red blood, causing Phryne's stomach to curl up in a corner and whimper.

"Let me have a look," Mac demanded.

"Be my guest," he ground out, fully aware of the crowd surrounding them curiously. "But maybe somewhere a bit more private?"

"Let's get him back to the hotel," Phryne decided, successfully managing to keep the tremble out of her voice.

"Both of them," Iris added. Only then the Detective tore her attention long enough from Jack to look at Luke. His eye was already starting to swell over.

X

Dorothy Williams just happened to drop into a bakery at this very time. She didn't really need anything, but then the scones in the window did look nice. Possibly not quite as nice as the ones she had intended to bake herself, but then hardly any did. She kept her eyes open for the man she'd hoped to see, but there was only a rather tall and rather broad woman in a white lacy apron behind the counter.

"Can I help you, Ma'am?" she asked in a very thin voice that stood in stark contrast to her appearance.

Dutiful Dot made an order, trying to sneak a look into the back.

"Was there anything else?" the woman asked, showing signs of suspicion.

"I was wondering..." Dorothy took her heart in her hands, "would someone named Paddy work here by any chance?"

The woman's laugh was somewhat shrill and a little annoying.

"Not this late in the day, Dear. He has been up baking bread since 2 o'clock and is now home."

"Oh," Dot made, feeling somewhat deflated.

"Are you sweet on him, Dear?"

It took a moment until the question sank in. Then her eyes opened to make two huge dinner plates.

"What?!"

"Quite handsome young man, he is. I'm just wondering. You wouldn't be the first," the Baker's Wife continued happily.

"I'm married!" Dorothy protested. The friendly face darkened.

"Well, that's no good for being sweet on him then."

The sleuth felt herself turning bright red, but in a last attempt to solve her dignity she pressed out: "I am the assistant of a Lady-Detective. She asked me to find this Paddy for a case."

It was only a tiny white lie. Barely worth mentioning at the confession. The creases appearing on the woman's forehead made her regret her decision quickly.

"What kinda case? He's not in trouble, is he?"

"No. No, he is not. His picture was found in a stolen necklace," Dot explained quickly. "I was just attempting to make sure it was indeed him."

The baker's wife stared at her for a long moment before obviously deciding to believe the strange woman in her shop.

"Right. He'll be workin' tomorrow. I'll let him know you've been looking for him."

"That would be lovely."

Dorothy swore silently to herself in a language that she would definitely have to confess, but stalked towards the door. There she turned, realising that she had left her scones behind.

"Actually," she said, as she snatched them up, "I'd rather you wouldn't."

Her head had turned the shade of a rather ripe tomato by the time she finally made it back out onto the pavement.


	22. Chapter 21: Thirty Pieces Of Silver

**Chapter 21: Thirty Pieces Of Silver**

"It's not broken," Mac stated calmly, but continued prodding Jack's nose in a very painful manner. The Inspector was currently tempted to repay the favour, but refrained from any violence against his friend.

He had trouble grasping just why he was so furious. It had been an accident; O'Neill had apologized profously and repeatedly and now sat, clasping a cool compress to his eye, which was slowly turning a variety of shades. Jack had to grumpily admit that he was mostly angry at himself.

He had watched Phryne being incredibly calm and collected for the last hour. So calm in fact that he didn't believe a moment of it. Instead he sensed panic rise from her like steam. Jack's impotence in the face of a fear he couldn't grasp caused his patience to slip, which in turn made him feel like an even worse husband than the failure to help her. Foyle – he had understood that, despite not having seen him coming. Even her reaction to Collingwood had seemed natural, all things considered. Yet here he was out of his depths. He couldn't understand why she was seemingly losing her mind about nightmares and fairytales, treating every bruise as if he'd just barely escaped an attempt on his life. And despite knowing the effect on her, he seemed incapable of keeping his battered nose out of business that would get him hurt. Jack really felt like a failure on all fronts.

This conclusion might have been why, when Mrs. Wilson made a brief re-appareance with a bottle of Whiskey and two tumblers, he accepted, even though it there was bright daylight outside and his head was in fact still pounding from both, last night's abuse and the afternoon's beating. He felt Phryne's worried eyes rest on him as he took the first sip. Out of pure stubbornness he swallowed a deeper gulp than intended and made his way over to where Luke sat in silent brooding.

"Good aim," the Inspector grumbled, lifting his hand when the other man opened his mouth. "Please spare us any more apologies. I believe everything's been said."

Luke only nodded. In the background Mac pulled a reluctant Phryne out of the room.

Heavily Jack fell onto a chair and topped up his own glass before filling the farmer's empty tumbler.

"A good race," he said after a long moment of manly silence.

"With the right winner," Luke answered, draining his glass in two big gulps.

"She's quite something, this Grace Harper," Jack said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass and feeling himself measured with a dark stare. "Not a great match to her husband though it seems."

If Luke O'Neill realised that he was being questioned, he didn't show it.

"Aidan's an idiot," he repeated his words from their last conversation.

"I am told you were friends once," Jack continued calmly, letting the burning liquid wash down his throat.

Again a stare out of clever dark eyes.

"We were. The three of us. In another lifetime. Even back then Aidan was a pain in the backside, he always needed to have the last word, to win every game. Just a flaw, you know...?"

"What happened?" Jack asked, even though he knew the answer already.

A bitter laugh escaped Luke's throat.

"I sat in this very room with Aidan, I believe we even had whiskey that night," the farmer explained, leaning back. "Told him that I was considering to ask Grace for her hand."

Jack gulped, his throat tightening, but he just refilled their glasses, urging the other man in silence to continue.

"I had underestimated his competitiveness."

The farmer didn't seem inclined to tell him any more and Jack didn't ask, truly not sure if he wanted to know. For a brief moment it occurred to him how it might have felt, had Mac lured Phryne away from him rather than supported him in his proposal. It was a stunningly odd thought, but for a split second he felt a burning sense of betrayal in his chest. It was enough to bring his nausea back. Jack swallowed it down with another gulp of scotch.

"I am not surprised you hate him," he heard himself say through a thicket of thoughts.

The other man shrugged without lifting his eyes from his tumbler.

"I don't think hating Aidan is an option," he finally stated. "Some people you can't cut out of your heart."

"Forgiveness _is _said to be a Christian virtue," pointed out a very atheist Inspector after a pause.

"Nobody said anything about forgiveness either," the farmer grumbled. "I tolerate him, that's all."

He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, deep in thought.

"We used to be like brothers... once upon a time."

There was a sadness to his words that Jack felt had nothing to do with Grace. Luke had lost more than just a woman he'd loved.

The Inspector nodded.

"I myself have always been closer to my cousin than my sister," he explained plainly in a sudden wish to share something of himself. There was the shadow of a smile hiding underneath the other man's beard.

"I have no comparison, I fear. My mother had almost given up on receiving any children and I am, as I am assured, a miracle. "

Jack for a moment had trouble breathing. Another subject that hit too close to home. He rubbed his suddenly sweaty palm onto his trousers, realising that his opposite was still talking.

"But, here I am. What a shame the line isn't going to be continued after me."

The Inspector was somewhat surprised.

"You aren't intending to have a family at all?"

Luke O'Neill tilted his head, finally draining his glass.

"You ask too many questions, Inspector."

Jack leaned back in his chair, measuring the farmer carefully with his eyes.

"That happens to be part of my occupation."

Tumult outside in the hall caused both men's head to fly up.

"Where is he?! Will said this copper from Melbourne arrested him and young Ferguson knows nothing about it!"

A second later the door was ripped open and in stormed Pete O'Neill, foaming in righteous anger. He stopped, panting, when his eyes fell on the two men staring at him, both looking rather frightening with their battered and swollen faces.

After a moment of stunned silence Luke rose.

"Thank you for your help, Inspector."

He shook the man's hand before heading towards his father and trying to shuffle him out of the room.

"What did he do to you?" the man hissed under his breath, just loud enough for Jack to hear. The Inspector quietly smirked into his drink.  
"The question is rather what I did to him, Father. Now lets leave before you embarrass yourself any further."

Jack sat down his tumbler and leaned back in his chair, enjoying the silence. Despite wondering dimly what Phryne was up to, he let his eyes fall shut and the day sink in.

"How are you?" a familiar voice asked into his darkness.

"I remember better days," he smiled, opening his lashes. Iris sat down in the chair Luke had only just left, penetrating him with a dark-blue stare.

"You look horrendous," she stated calmly.

"Thank you," Jack quipped. "You don't look so good yourself."

Her smile actually reached the eyes this time.

"Always the charmer. But since I am pretty certain that your wife has informed you of my struggles, it would be only fair if you told me about yours."

The Inspector found that that made a certain kind of sense. And also that he really longed to share this weight with someone. She misinterpreted his hesitance.

"I'm worried about you, Jack."

He grinned bitterly, which turned into a grimace.

"Well, that makes two of you. I don't think I can handle that much concern for my well-being."

Her confusion was obvious and Jack decided to surrender and fill her in.

X

Meanwhile Phryne was still fighting it. Mac had taken her for a stroll down to the river, telling her her nerves needed calming. She was calm!

Grumpily she walked on her friend's arm while Mac was talking about nonsensical things. This was getting hideous.

"Are we done here?" she asked impatiently, trying to leave, but her friend held her arm with the grip of a vice.

"All right, Phryne, enough of the games! You will tell me right now what's going on. Something's off. You are not yourself!"

The Detective stared angrily at her, considering to lie, but then Mac knew her too well, rendering this a pointless exercise.

"I fear that Jack is going to die."

Elizabeth started at the blunt statement, her frown deepening.

"Is there any rational reason for such an assumption?"

Phryne shrugged helplessly.

"It is merely a feeling," she admitted, staring past the other woman. "A premonition, if you so want." Her friend's eyes searched her face.

"Are you sure that his little string of mishaps hasn't just stirred up memories?" she asked. Phryne stayed stubbornly quiet, chewing on her lip. It was undeniable that Jack's state the other night had set her right back to an afternoon two years ago, when she had stepped through a door to find him blood-drenched and half-dead in a chair. His abduction was a wound on her soul that didn't seem willing to heal. She couldn't fight the conclusion that she had let him down. Of course, the rational part of her brain protested this vehemently, but in her heart of hearts she knew that nobody in the world could have taken him, had she watched his back.

"Phryne!"

Mac started to sound impatient and the Detective realised that she would have to deal with her some way or another. But really she just wanted to brush off her friend's concern and return to the hotel. To Jack.

"It's natural to worry for someone you love," the Doctor tried after taking a deep breath. "In fact-"

"And what good is that, if I can't protect him?"

The desperation in her own voice startled Phryne. Mac fell silent. For a long moment they wandered in silence along the creek, the water gurgling happily along.

"Do you remember your undercover work in Collingwood?"

Phryne's turned her head, but didn't answer. She would be rather hard-pressed to forget this rather unpleasant experience. Luckily Mac didn't wait for her reply.  
"I recall you being unreasonably worried about Jack's cold then." Mac took her arm again, leading her along the path as you might lead a stubborn child.

"Is there a point to this?" Phryne asked impatiently, causing the Doctor to snap.

"You were occupied with your nonsensical fears rather than the case you had been assigned and missed the obvious-"

Phryne stopped, almost throwing her friend off balance.

"You are right!"

The Doctor looked so honestly confused that she wanted to laugh.

"Mac, you are an absolute treasure."

The Detective leaned in, brushing a kiss to her friend's cheek and ran off before the redhead had a chance to find her composure. Mac sighed, feeling her anger evaporate while she turned on her heels and stalked back towards the hotel. She guessed Phryne's smile as she'd raced off was at least some result to this little exercise.

X

"Come on, Harper, don't pull such a face. You've won the race."

The Barkeep measured the strange group who had spent the last hour having their tumblers refilled quietly. Aidan Harper's eyes had started turning glassy about 20 minutes and three drinks ago.

"My wife won the race," he protested.

A hand slapped him on the shoulder so hard that he almost toppled from his barstool.

"But then women can't win races, can they?" said Torres, grinning.

Harper turned his head, trying to focus on him.

"You mean...?"

"He means that_ you_ have won the race," Bill Ferguson pushed in. "Or your team, if you so want."

He grinned. "Or would you rather hand your victory to O'Neill?"

Aidan stared grimly into his glass that was decidedly too empty before waving Ben over with a bottle of Whiskey.

"Fuck O'Neill," he said quietly.

"That's the spirit, my friend."

The next slap on the back caused him to spill his freshly refilled glass all over the counter. Ben rolled his eyes at the three. It was going to be a long day for him.


	23. Chapter 23: Eternity In An Hour

**Chapter 22: Eternity In An Hour**

Busily folding a shirt, the Inspector didn't look up when he heard the door go.

"What are you doing, Jack?" he heard his wife ask.

"It appears rather obvious, Miss Fisher," he quipped, grasping for another shirt to smooth it into the suitcase.

"Let me rephrase the question: Why are you packing? We aren't leaving just yet," Phryne smiled, draping herself across the bed. Jack tried his hardest to ignore her provocative smile. He couldn't help but pick up on her change of mood though.

"I recall you intending on a return to Melbourne after the race," he reminded her while continuing his work. Phryne wouldn't have his lack of attention and pulled herself onto her knees, crawling over to her husband like a wildcat on the prowl. The view was completely impossible to ignore.

"There might have been a slight change of plans," she purred, gently moving his suitcase out of the way. Despite feeling his throat go dry, Jack found himself suspicious.

"May I ask what provoked this change?" he asked, finally stopping in his doings to look at her.

"I had a talk with Mac or rather, she had a talk with me. And it turns out, she is completely right. I've missed the obvious in all the anxiety."

The Inspector made a half-hearted attempt at concealing his relief. Mac was always a force to be reckoned with. But there was no possible to suppress his smile.

"And was is the obvious, Miss Fisher?"

She pulled him into a kiss that he protested with a hiss of pain when she bumped his bruised nose. Reluctantly but grinning, she released him.

"You really do look like a thug, Jack."

"You are avoiding my question, Miss Fisher."

She finally did him the favour of crawling from the bed and getting back onto her feet.

"We have two murder cases in the same family."

"A horse and a woman we don't even know for a fact, is dead," Jack threw in dryly which merely earned him an annoyed look. It reminded so much of his normal, confident Phryne that it weakened his knees with joy.

"If Evie Harper's disappearance proves to be a dead end, we should concentrate on 'Evening Wind's' murder and it might all unravel together," Phryne stated unfazed by his protest. Considering the sparkle in her eyes, Jack might have agreed to throw himself from a cliff at this stage and the fact that she was standing entirely too close for his composure didn't help in the slightest.

"So, what do you propose?" he asked, his hand settling on her hip uninvited.

"I might have an idea," she smiled, reaching out her fingers to take advantage of his proximity. Tousling his hair was as delicious still as it had been the very first time. Today it held the added benefit of being an intimate touch which didn't hurt him. Jack's expression promised her that he was developing ideas of his own and that they were not related to their cases. Her smile broadened, fingertips massaging the back of his head, watching him melt into her touch. Jack's eyes had darkened, a second hand sneaking up to hold onto her. What a shame that they had no time to continue this if they intended to leave in the morning.

"Your idea, Miss Fisher?" he asked hoarsely, his eyes flickering to her lips. Another moment and they would lose their heads and right now, Phryne was about ready to surrender to Jack's warm fingers caressing her hips.

"I believe we should head back to the crime scene. We let ourselves get distracted by an obviously false trail," she all but whispered. "So we missed whatever the real killer has left behind."

"A very good point."

The roughness of his voice crawled underneath her skin, causing her knees to tremble.

"Shall we go then?" she asked, eyes glued to his.

"After you," he breathed, so close that she felt the air between them crackling. Phryne sucked a deep breath into her lungs, unable to move. She really, really wanted to investigate, yet the temptation was too strong to resist.

"What makes you think I desire talking to you?" an angry voice swept down the hall, tearing the lovers from their dazed spell.

"I am quite certain that you are obligated to talk to your guests," John protested no less loudly. Phryne rolled her eyes while Jack's lips quirked into an amused smile.

"You can consider yourself lucky that you are still a guest after the words you used to my face," Mia argued, not in the least considerate of being overheard.

"You aren't telling me that you are still sulking about those ridiculous things I've said?"

There was silence for a long moment and the spouses held their breaths, fully convinced that the next sound would be a slap. But instead they heard Miss Green's voice, suddenly icy rather than enraged.

"I am a grown woman, Mr. Robinson. I do not sulk. I merely choose my company carefully and I feel no desire to surround myself with people who think as poorly of me as you obviously do. Now, if that was all, I have things to do. Good'day."

A door slammed shut and a second later there was a dull sound of a fist hitting a wall in frustration, followed by a small cry of pain as the utter stupidity of this move became apparent. Phryne couldn't help a chuckle.

"If I didn't know better I would say Father has found his match."

"She's certainly not taken by his rustic charms," the Lady-Detective grinned.

"Father does not possess charms; he thinks them unnecessary," Jack quipped, unwrapping himself from his wife's embrace before he could again fall under her spell.

"He might have to produce some if he hopes to achieve Miss Green's forgiveness," Phryne pointed out.

"I'm not even certain why he is suddenly interested in her absolution. Yesterday he was still refusing to have anything to do with her."

Phryne took Jack's topcoat from his hands just when he was about to shrug it on.

"I don't think you'll need that."

He sighed. It was almost 40 degrees outside, yet he enjoyed his armour when it came to bloody crime scenes.

But then Miss Fisher had stripped him from his protection from the very first day, a fact that had scared the life out of him until he had realised that _she_ was now his sword and armour. She had proven time and time again that she would bring him back from hell if she had to. And as a result, Inspector Robinson, a man who had survived a Great War and many years in the police force, had found an inner calmness that he couldn't attempt to explain. It wasn't that he felt invincible, far from it. But Phryne would always come for him and in the face of this, bloodthirsty killers and insane criminals lost their terror.

"Jack?"

He realised that he was still standing in the middle of the hotel room, clutching onto his hat. He smiled.

"Coming, Miss Fisher."

"I hope not just yet, Inspector."

He ignored her cheeky comment as he held open the door for her. She would pay for that later.

X

"No luck then?" Mr. Butler asked as Dorothy stepped into the Robinson's kitchen, carrying the rest of her apple cake. She didn't pay any mind to the fact that he hadn't even looked up from brewing the tea to see her face.

"None," she admitted. "I cannot seem to find any prove either way."

Dot sat down and began to spoon sugar into her cup. Mr. Butler joined her and poured the tea while silently encouraging her to go on.

"Hugh is of the opinion that I am wrong," she explained miserably. "But then I believe he is just being a horrible optimist."

"That seems remarkable, considering his occupation."

"It is, isn't it? But then he is so very busy with his work and all the real criminals in this city... I am quite certain that I can solve this on my own."

Tobias grinned into his tea as he watched her continue to absent-mindedly shovel sugar into her cup.

"Of course, I can be of little help without knowing any details or indeed who the subject of your sleuthing is," he explained carefully. "But maybe you should give this person the benefit of the doubt?"

Dot hummed at this and took a sip of her tea. It had to be said for her that she swallowed instead of spitting it across the table.

X

The Harper's sheep station lay in complete silence in the afternoon – as far as a farm was ever silent. A sheep baaahed in the distance as they crossed the yard towards the stable. Orpheus greeted them with an impatient whinny, hoping the Detective's would finally release him from his box. The rest of the stable was empty; apparently Grace Harper was still out with Athena. 'Evening Wind's' box had been emptied and washed, no trace left of the lake of blood the dying stallion had left behind. So, there was nothing to be found there then.

"I wonder how he has gotten through the door," Phryne thought aloud turning towards the door where she found Jack patting the black-and-white horse with a smile on his face. She watched him in silence for a moment.

"I wasn't aware you were a horseman, Inspector."

He didn't look up, just continued to caress Orpheus between the eyes, who obviously enjoyed the attention.

"Uncle Walter had two horses when I was a young boy," he explained. "Max and Moritz."

Phryne had to grin at Jack's tongue trying to wrap itself around the strange name. He did look like a thug in the dusty light but strangely that made him far from less attractive.

"Did you enjoy riding?" she asked him in an undeniably sultry tone. She had not intended that, obviously her thoughts had seeped into her voice without asking for her permission. Which was rather annoying as the Inspector was now turning with a cheeky smile and she could feel her heart going aflutter. He really did look dangerous.

"Quite, Miss Fisher."

For a brief moment she thought he might seduce her in the middle of the stable, but then his back straightened and he retreated without moving an inch. She cursed his rationality.

"You were saying something about the door?" he asked after clearing his throat.

"I haven't spotted any signs of a break-in," she explained. "Considering the money they paid for 'Evening Wind'..."

"And the brand new lock," Jack added, already inspecting said door.

"...I would assume that Mrs. Harper wasn't lying about her husband being religious when it came to locking in his horses."

Jack hummed at this. There was indeed not a scratch on the sparkling brass lock. His eyes sweep over the stable, stopping at a ladder which lead up through a small window into a hayloft.

"Unless the killer was lying in waiting?"

Phryne had already grabbed the first wooden step with her gloved hands and Jack could do nothing but follow her, acutely aware of her butt sashaying in front of his very eyes. Orpheus watched the two humans disappear with the patience of a horse.

"Finding any evidence here might be quite literally looking for a needle in a haystack," the Inspector stated dryly when he found his wife riffling through the prickly material.

Voices interrupted Phryne's cheeky remark. She looked at Jack, who had already wrapped a guarding arm around her. A moment later they lay flat in the hay, glancing down into the stable, where an obviously furious Grace was leading Athena to her box.

"You humiliated me!" a still invisible man yelled. Aidan Harper sounded drunk. "In front of everybody."

His wife spun on the heels of her boots.

"By winning?"

"I forbid you to race!"

He appeared, swaying heavily, but nevertheless grabbing his wife by the shoulder, pushing her backwards. Athena didn't like the development one bit and uneasily moved about on the spot

"Get off me!"

With the ice in Grace's voice one could have frozen the antarctic. Aidan had the sense to loosen his grip even in his drunk stupor.

"You are my wife!" he pressed out.

"We shall see about that, shall we?"

His mouth fell agape.

"What?!"

"I've been having some thoughts on the matter, Aidan," she stated coldly. Upstairs, the Detectives looked at each other. They had noticed some tensions at the race, but this seemed a bit sudden.

"But... you are my wife."

"You are repeating yourself."

The man had to steady himself against the wall, if for shock or the amount of alcohol in his blood was hard to say. Silently he watched as Grace removed the saddle from Athena. Phryne became acutely aware of how close Jack was lying, his arm wrapped over her back, his breath brushing her neck.

"What are you going to do then?" Harper finally screamed. "Run away like my mother?"

Grace didn't answer. She calmly finished her job, then left the stable, slamming the door shut behind herself. Her husband raced after her as fast as his unsteady legs would allow, aiming a string of profanities at nobody in particular.

"Grace Harper is considering a divorce?" Phryne whispered when they were alone. "She seemed rather fond of her husband when she asked for our help."

"Then again, after his behaviour today I wouldn't blame her," Jack smiled. Phryne found herself unable to answer when she realised that he had surrendered into the urge of nuzzling her neck.

"Jack," she breathed in what she hoped was a warning tone of voice.

"Miss Fisher?"

Damn him. He was actually trailing gentle bites along her shoulder.

"If you continue this, I am making no promises that I won't ravish you right here," she grumbled, spinning in his embrace to face him, but somehow ending up with the heavy weight of an Inspector on top of her.

"You seem to be in no position to ravish anyone," he teased, continuing his attentions on her collar bone. When his teeth closed around her fabric covered nipple, Phryne bucked underneath him, surrendering. If Jack was happy to be unreasonable, who was she to argue? But she wasn't going to make it quite this easy.

Throwing him off balance while he was distracted, she rolled on top, a moan escaping his throat when she straddled him. He was flushed wherever he wasn't covered in bruises, completely disheveled, with hay sticking in his tousled hair and arousal clouding his dark eyes. If Phryne hadn't already been out of breath, she was sure she would've lost it at the sight. She leaned in, brushing her lips lightly to his in consideration of his wounds. The Inspector wouldn't have any of it and grasped her head, pulling her into a deep, passionate kiss, their tastes mingling on their tongues. She could feel him pressing against her, his body begging for her attention and was only too happy to oblige. Jack's fingers were still tangled in her hair when she slipped down his chest, his eyes following her curiously as she unbuttoned his pants, then rolling back in his head when her lips touched him.

"Dear God."

His husky growl sent the butterflies in Phryne's stomach into hectic flight. The hay rustled in rhythm with his heavy breathing and her own movement. Jack had gone quiet, but she knew better than to be deceived by his silence. Exciting him was an art form that she strived to perfect in her lifetime. And one of the lessons she had learned was to not be surprised when he melted into the sensations, savoured his lust rather than rushing for a finish line. Phryne couldn't fight temptation. She paused for a brief moment to look at his features, causing him to to buck his hips against her and with some effort lift his head.

"Don't stop... please."

But while Phryne was convinced to return to her doings by his breathless demand, she wouldn't be rushed. There was little in the world she enjoyed as much as driving Jack to insanity and nothing quite as beautiful as watching him squirm in arousal. A particularly artful swirl of her tongue took his breath away and the fingers buried in her hair clenched unconsciously. She might have taken offence to such a possessive gesture had it been anyone but Jack. But as it was she just grinned around him, picking up speed. She realised that she was being watched out of dark, glazed eyes and felt her stomach twist in delicious want. A cheeky thought snuck through her mind as she listened to his groans growing louder. He had very obviously forgotten where they were or chosen not to care and that made it even the more exciting. Jack was approaching his climax fast, his hips moving against her, his fingers grasping her hair almost painfully, his other hand fisting into the hay as he was swept away. He was so close...

Phryne waited for that very moment to retreat. She heard the air escape from his lungs in a disappointed groan. The Inspectors eyes snapped open, worry and confusion written through them, but he was greeted with a mischievous smile. Realising that in the throes of passion he had lost control over his hand, he gently retrieved his fingers from her bob, pulling himself into a sitting position.

"Maybe we should get back to business?" she pointed out, still looking way too smug. "We almost lost our heads in a stable."

Jack nodded, his jaw clenched, unable to speak of disappointment. She slowly buttoned up his pants, watching him with glittering eyes and damn her if she wasn't still teasing him. In sudden resolve he grasped her, throwing her in the hay.

"You're not going anywhere, Miss Fisher," he growled, pinning her into the soft, prickly mattress. His hands weren't rough, she could have easily shaken him off, but Phryne found herself rather excited by his boldness. And secretly pleased with herself.

"Is that so, Inspector?"

"Indeed."

He kissed her with vigour and Phryne had to restrain herself to not groan into his mouth. When she found her senses again she realised that his hands were hard at work on releasing her from any unnecessary clothing. Pulling him back down she demanded his attention in another kiss while her thrashing fingers finally stripped him with a new sense of urgency. It took only moments of breathless work before their naked bodies were entangled again in their soft bed. Jack wasted no time before sinking into her, trying to pace his desperation for relief. Hay prickled on their skin. Phryne panted heavily under the weight of her husband, clutching at his arms as she welcomed him, let herself be carried away by his touch and her own lust.

Jack's hot fingers brought her back into the moment. God, he knew exactly how to touch her and briefly she wondered if he had also endeavoured on a quest to learn her every weakness. But the Inspector was also approaching the edge rapidly, his breath having grown heavy and his eyes shut tightly. Repaying a favour, she grasped his hair, pulling him down to her, closing his mouth with her own. His trapped fingers were trembling with tension, but still chasing Phryne's climax as she writhed underneath him, knowing that he wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. Her fingernails dug painfully into his shoulders as she pulled herself up to catch his nipple with her mouth. Jack threw his head back at this and for a moment she thought he would leave her behind. His hand jerked against her, quivering, trembling. The wave of heat hit her unprepared. She fell backwards, all thoughts dissolving, crashing him down on top of her. Jack was shaking too, she noticed dimly as she rode the wave, clutching him tightly to herself, his body in this very moment her only reason to be.

God, how she loved this man, it was unbearable.

Darkness encased Phryne for the moments she swam in the aftermaths. She could feel him release her, regretting the loss instantly. When she opened her eyes, he was lying on his side in all his naked glory, still catching his breath while absent-mindedly stroking her belly. There was so much tenderness in his expression that she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

"Well, I didn't expect that from our investigation," she teased. He just nodded, trailing his fingertips up her side.

"What is it?" she finally asked, when he just continued to stay stubbornly silent.

"Nothing of any consequence," he smiled. To her surprise he seemed embarrassed.

"Nonsense," she breathed, carefully stroking his cheek and forcing him to look at her.

"You are breathtakingly beautiful right now," he finally stated, matter-of-factly. It wasn't a compliment.

Unable to come up with anything to say, which really was a rather unusual state for Miss Fisher, she peeled some straw from his shoulder.

Phryne could still feel the dark thoughts swirling through the back of her mind like smoke, but refused to be sucked into their depths. She simply wouldn't accept anything to take him away from her. And up here, where the dust flitted trough the thin rays of light falling through gaps in the wood, the world seemed far, far away.

"Can we just stay here?" she asked, snuggling into his shoulder. A tiny smile lit up his face.

"What happened to your lust for sleuthing, Miss Fisher?"

She stifled a yawn as the restless nights caught up to her.

"It seems to be taking a break."

Jack didn't have the heart to remind her that they were still hiding in a horse stable in a state of complete undress and would have to answer some very uncomfortable questions if someone should discover them. Instead he wrapped her in his arms and watched her drift into a soft slumber. He was too tired himself to hear when underneath them, the door opened.


	24. Chapter 23: Kiss The Night

**Chapter 23: Kiss The Night**

Her steps fastened as she walked down the pavement. Hazel couldn't have said what it was that bothered her. She had dove out into the late afternoon to get some mints from the nearby corner store. The white-haired lady had been perfectly lovely, chattering on about the race and asked when she'd return to the city. Of course, tonight was not going to happen after Phryne and Jack had disappeared somewhere to investigate, but Hazel was rather hoping to leave this place behind tomorrow morning. The cruel words in the letter had hit her deeper that she was prepared to admit, particularly to Mac. Elizabeth MacMillan was probably the strongest woman she had ever met and she demanded nothing less than respect from her environment, lesbian or not. Hazel on the other hand had hidden her sexuality for most of her life – until love had turned that into an entirely impractical choice. Denying her relationship with Mac was not an option, that much had been clear from the start. But nevertheless they were usually more careful. They had been carried away by the joy of being out here away from their busy lives, in a circle of people they didn't have to hide from. And they had neglected to think of all their audience who didn't look the other way just because it was none of their business.

A cold shiver ran down her spine. It wasn't far now, the sign above the door already appearing in the distance, but something was wrong. She felt watched, a sensation that she also hadn't been able to shake earlier when she had gone to powder her nose at the race. The thought that the writer of this letter may be lurking somewhere in the shadows caused her to rush even faster. She almost screamed when a hand touched her arm.

"Hazel?"

She let her defensively raised hand sink.

"You're shaking," Mac stated, dropping the rest of her cigarette on the floor. Her lover tried an uneasy laugh.

"I'm merely being a scaredy-cat," she said, her voice too unsteady to convince anyone.

"Something seems to be in the water here," her lover grumbled, quickly sweeping the area for any signs of danger. But the only other person was an elderly gentleman, who friendly doffed his hat as he passed them. Laying a protective hand in Hazels back, she steered her towards the door. A pair of cold eyes followed the couple as they stepped inside.

X

A harsh knock ripped him from his doings, causing the knife to slip and draw a drop of blood. Cursing, Luke pulled himself to his feet. In memory of the afternoon he decided to button up his shirt despite the stuffy heat in the cabin, before opening the door. Absolute emptiness greeted him.

"Hello?"

She stepped around the corner, her hair light against the invading darkness.

"I had to tie Orpheus to the gumtree," Grace explained her disappearance without any greeting. "You know how he is."

"I know," Luke replied stiffly, blocking her view into the cabin. She stood, seemingly wondering if she should have come.

"What happened to your eye?" she asked. He could tell by the twitch of her hand that she wanted to touch him but she kept her distance and he was grateful for it.

"A little drunken brawl after the race," he answered, without explaining anything. She nodded, chewing on her lip as she had done ever since she'd been a girl.

"What are you doing here?" he finally asked. It wasn't unfriendly but such a stark contrast to his beaming pride in the afternoon that Grace cringed inwardly.

"I need to ask you," she said. "Did you do it?"

"You've made up your mind already."

She shrugged, embarrassed.

"Will you believe me if I deny it?" he asked.

Another shrug. She chewed on her lips in the twilight, thinking.

"You let me win."

His anger at that statement surprised her.

"I did nothing of the kind. I would have beaten you if I could've!"

"And nevertheless you seemed... overjoyed."

He turned his head, dipping his face in shadows. Once again she wished he would shave this bloody beard off so she could read his expression again.

"Well, I am a fool, aren't I?" he grumbled.

"Not as much as I."

She looked lost in the twilight, tears shimmering in her eyes and his limbs just refused to move.

"I'm considering to leave him," she ground out. "I need you to talk me out of it."

"I can't," he said, willing himself to go and stop looking at her falling apart in front of him.

"Please, Luke."

He cleared his throat, trying to find his composure.

"You married him, Grace. I don't know why, but you've made your choice. It should compel you to stand by your word."

She nodded in silence. Luke stared at his hand for a long moment, where a drop of blood was seeping from his thumb in slow motion. He rubbed it against the bandage spanning across his palm, leaving a read smear.

"He isn't a bad man. And he loves you."

Saying the last had almost gone over his strengths, but it would be enough.

"He's not as good a man as you," she said, her voice having mysteriously come a lot closer. He tore his eyes from his feet to find Grace standing right in front of him. There was a thin smile on her lips and he just stared, paralysed.

"Thank you," she continued, when he didn't answer. "I know what it cost you."

Luke wanted to tell her that she had no idea, but kept his mouth shut for fear of all the stupid words that could fall out of it. She pulled herself onto her toes and he held his breath in expectation of a kiss to the cheek that she reserved for the moments when she felt incredibly grateful and a little cheeky. Her breath brushed over his face and he just couldn't bear it. With Luke jerking his head to the side, her lips missed their target, landing in the corner of his mouth. It was a sensation like an electric jolt. With a gasp he stumbled backwards.

"Go home to your husband!"

He cringed at the coldness of his own voice.

"I didn't mean..."

"I know," he said, softer. "Just go home."

He slammed the door shut behind himself before he could crumble under the look she gave him and let his back fall heavily against the wood. The cut across his palm throbbed in anger. Luke didn't move until he heard the sound of hoofs fade in the distance.

X

"What's that long face?" John asked, glancing up briefly from his paper. Jane flung herself into the seat across from him, a huge armchair that seemed to swallow the girl.

"Again only the maid," she grumbled, pulling her feet onto the leather cover.

"Shoes," John said. With some annoyance Jane sat down properly. "So, where is this young man of yours hiding then?" he asked behind his wall of paper. His granddaughter shrugged.

"I didn't tell him I was going to telephone," she admitted quietly. "I just wanted to hear his voice."

John smiled. As someone who had been married to a single woman for the greatest part of his life, he encountered some trouble meeting the problems of young love with the appropriate grievance. But the sparkle in Jane's eyes was amusing to him all the same.

"And he didn't sense that you'd miss him tonight? How very impolite of him."

"You are not taking me seriously," she protested.

"Not particularly," her grandfather admitted with a smirk, turning the page. "But I assume you will celebrate your lucky return tomorrow night?"

"We will. Unless of course, Jack and Phryne find a murder to solve."

He laughed at this.

"It seems like a horse is all they are getting this time. Mind you, the scene was gruesome. I've seen a lot in my time in the constabulary but never stood in blood up to my ankles before."

Jane rolled her eyes at her Grumps's exaggeration and got up to find herself a book in the small library the hotel offered. When she sat back down, John was just inspecting his watch.

"I wonder where they are. Surely it can't take that long. They are going to miss dinner."

"You really haven't witnessed them investigating much, have you?" Jane asked, opening her novel. "They get sidetracked chasing around after criminals."

"That doesn't sound very professional," John grumbled under his breath.

"Says the policeman currently reading his newspaper," she quipped, kicking off her shoes to pull up her legs again.

"I'll have you know that I am retired," he mumbled.

"You certainly are."

John glanced over his newspaper at the broad grin of his granddaughter.

"You aren't too old for a spanking just yet, young Lady!"

The young Lady pretended to be absorbed in her book, but her smile lasted for quite some time.

X

"Phryne?"

The whisper woke her along with a soft kiss. She stretched her limbs into some strange, prickly material. When she finally opened her eyes, a tiny smile greeted her from her husband's lips. It had grown quite dark in the hayloft. With a start she sat.

"What time is it?"

"Time to leave," he pointed out, brushing hay from her back. "As you noted, they would be fools not to lock the door at night time."

"Potentially embarrassing," she quipped, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, watched by the attentive eyes of her husband.

"Not as embarrassing as the situation it'd create if they decided to feed their horses tonight."

Phryne sighed. Climbing back into the real world didn't seem particularly tempting right now. But her bladder was also complaining loudly and she had to admit that they couldn't hide forever. Especially not in Harper's stable. Rubbing an itchy spot on her arm, her eyes fell onto Jack, who wore pants by now, but still no shirt.

"You have come up in hives," she pointed out.

"I've noticed, Miss Fisher. So have you, I fear."

He was right. The hay had left a lasting impression on her porcelain skin, in form of a sprinkling of raised red spots on arms and back.

"Not particularly romantic," she grumbled as she got dressed.

"I can't say with any honesty that I care," Jack said behind her before capturing her head in a kiss. He truly didn't. The last hour, holding Phryne in completely restful sleep while slipping in and out of consciousness himself had brought him a deep calmness. Whatever Mac had said, it had somehow gotten through. Now she retreated from him, seeming slightly breathless.

"Careful, Inspector. If you continue this we will get locked in."

"That might be a risk worth taking," he grinned, nevertheless buttoning up his shirt and shrugging on his coat. "I trust you have a lockpick on your person, Miss Fisher."

She slipped into her heels before grasping his lapels and returning the favour. This time it was him losing his breath.

"If it's all the same to you, Jack, I'd rather continue this somewhere near a comfortable bed," she grinned, releasing him.

"I believe my back would thank you for it."

In comfortable silence they finished making themselves as presentable as possible with a pile of crumpled clothes and lipstick smeared across both their faces. In the twilight outside it might suffice. Finally Phryne poked her head over the corner.

"The coast seems to be clear," she stated, already halfway down the ladder. Athena watched the intruders with some interest as they climbed down to her level.

"It appears someone has taken pity on the spotted horse," she stated a moment later.

"I hope they weren't too attentive to the noises upstairs," the Inspector pointed out. "You were snoring at some point," he added.

She rolled her eyes at him, hurrying towards the door with swaying hips, her heels clicking over the stone floor. Something shot with a loud clanking sound into the shadows. The Detectives arrived at the same time.

"Interesting," Phryne said, while Jack held the small, empty bottle into the dim light. He blinked into the brightness when she switched on the flashlight she kept in her handbag.

"Morphine?" he asked. "What would you do with it in a horse stable?"

He turned his head, glanced at Athena.  
"It would hardly be any help in winning a race."

"Not unless you give it to your rival's horse."

The Detective's looked at each other, then stood at the same time.

"I'm guessing it would be unwise to attempt and slaughter a young, healthy stallion while he is fully attentive," Jack stated after a pause. "Then again I would also not want to try getting near him with a needle."

"I believe it's time we paid the town veterinarian a little visit," Phryne smiled and pocketed the evidence, then looked down her crumpled dress. "Even though a change of clothes might be advisable."


	25. Chapter 24: But Dust And Shadows

**Chapter 24: But Dust and Shadows**

"You?"

He spun angrily, almost throwing himself off balance. "How did you get in here?"

Jalboo shrugged.

"The door was open."

"That is not an invitation to just walk into my house," Aidan exclaimed angrily, slamming down his empty glass. The older man didn't think an answer necessary.

"Did you think about our conversation?" he asked.

"This is hardly the time," Aidan slurred, filling his tumbler. "My wife has informed me that she is considering a divorce. Have you ever heard the like?"

"Even more reason to face the truth," Jalboo insisted, attempting to wrestle the glass from the man's hands with little success.

"They're nothing but lies!"

The drunk farmer made for a pathetic sight as he emptied the tumbler in one big gulp. Jalboo sighed.

"Suit yourself. Nobody can accuse me of not trying."

He took his hat from the table and left. Harper sat for a while in drunken stupor, contemplating, then pulled himself to his feet and unsteadily made his way to the shed.

X

Rupert didn't notice his wife's empty stare into the distance as he entered the hotel room. At least, he tried very hard not to. Neither did he see the flinch in her shoulders when he talked.

"I believed you came up here to pack?" he enquired with forced casualty. Honestly he couldn't wait to leave this place and hopefully, back in town, he could also have his wife back.

Silence answered him.

"Iris?"

"I can't leave just yet," she said quietly, dipping her eyes to the floor. Rupert attempted to stay calm. In vain.

"Please tell me you are joking!"

She watched on in silence as he began pacing the room.

"Your cousin was punched in the face today, your sister receives threatening notes from some madman and your uncle is bickering all day with the hotel staff. Please don't tell me you are enjoying yourself too much to leave!"

His voice was dripping sarcasm, but Iris just slowly shook her head.

"Of course not." She took a deep breath. "It's Christian..."

She stopped when she saw his expression turn to stone. He nodded, his jaw clenched.

"I should have known," he said slowly, rage still boiling underneath the surface, but there was also a sense of defeat that confused her. "You didn't come here for the race, did you?"

She straightened her shoulders.

"I didn't," she admitted, without taking her eyes from him. His face was flushed with anger, but the dark shadows underneath his eyes scared her more. Rupert's voice was unreadable when he continued.

"I accept that there is a picture of a strange man standing on our mantelpiece. I bear that his mother telephones our house, but hangs up if I answer myself. I even allow that his brother shows late at night at our doorstep, demanding to speak to you in private!"

She opened her mouth to cut in, but his expression silenced her.

"I accept him overshadowing our life, because, Iris, deep in my heart I fool myself that maybe, just maybe if I humour you, someday you will be truly mine."

He stopped. The anger fell from him like dust. Iris found herself scared of the collapse she witnessed in her strong husband.

"And you prove me wrong again," he added tonelessly. She opened her mouth, closed it again.

"I _am_ yours!"

It was exclaimed without thought. He shook his head.

"I knew coming here was a mistake," he mumbled, before straightening. "But suit yourself. I will return to Melbourne in the morrow and you can follow when you feel ready to tear yourself away from him."

He turned to leave but found that he couldn't. A strong hand had grasped his arm and wouldn't let go.

"I need you here," she said, tears glittering in her eyes. "I can't do this without you. I've tried."

Rupert gulped, attempting to sort his racing thoughts.

"Whatever are you talking about?"

Her eyes darted to the bed, then back to him, trying to find words to explain and coming up empty.

"Stay there!"

Rupert watched in astonishment as his wife dove underneath the bed and returned a moment later with dust on her dress and a metal box clutched in her arms.

"Iris..."

"Meet Christian," she said, stubbornly holding his gaze. He realised that she had extended the box towards him. Slowly Rupert took the offered item.

"Is this a joke?"

Iris shook her head.

"This is my first husband - what's left of him, beside memories. And I don't wish to take him back with us." She looked up at him, her eyes still dangerously translucent, willing him to understand. He bit his lip in a gesture that she knew. He was torn and confused. "You're right, Rupert. It's time to let him go."

Her whispered urging seemed to have the desired effect. Rupert gently sat down the morbid box before wrapping his arms around her. Now, finally, Iris allowed herself to cry. He held her tightly until she was done, then slowly retreated, handing her a handkerchief.

"Could you do me a favour, please?" he asked, still looking shaken as he watched her dry her tears. "Would you mind just sharing those things as they happen? I really don't enjoy feeling like a jealous idiot."

She gave a watery laugh at this.

"I promise I'll tell you if any other former spouses show up in a box."

"That would be most appreciated," he grumbled before he kissed her.

X

To their surprise they found a familiar horse tied to the picket fence surrounding Dr. Doyle's cottage. As they walked down the path an angry, female voice swept through the open window.

"I merely want to know if you had anything to do with 'Evening Wind's death!"

There was a pause.

"This is a ridiculous accusation. I am Aidan's friend!"

"Well, maybe that's the point. Maybe you did him a favour, Doctor."

Doyle turned from where he had been lighting his pipe.

"What?!"

"I'd be incredibly interested in that train of thoughts as well."

This time both of them spun in surprise, finding the Inspector and his wife standing in the door frame. The Veterinarian bristled further.

"Could someone please explain to me why everybody feels the need to visit my house tonight? I have nothing to do with 'Evening Wind's' demise, tragic as it was."

"You were at the Station that day," Grace insisted. "I saw your car."

Phryne realised that there was also a great chance that Mrs. Harper had spotted her car earlier on and barely resisted the urge to blush. Doyle shrugged.

"I was. I had things to talk through with Aidan. But that's irrelevant since as far as I am informed, 'Evening Wind' was murdered in the middle of the night."

"True," Phryne cut in. "But he was drugged much earlier I am guessing."

She fished the small bottle from Jack's trouser pocket, which caused him to barely audible drag air through his teeth. The Lady Detective smirked to herself. Sadly she had no time for erotic daydreams right now.

"What's that?"

"An empty morphine vial we found in your stables," the Inspector explained, watching Mrs. Harper inspect the piece of evidence. "Is that something you use on your farm?"

Grace shook her head. The Veterinarian sighed when three people turned to him.

"Look, of course I use it. Sometimes it's required. But I am far from the only one. And why would I have used it on Evening Wind? I had no business in drugging him or killing him for that matter."

He thought for a long moment.

"I did, however, leave a vial of it with the O'Neills the other day. One of their rams was in great pain. And Luke administers it himself."

The Inspector pocketed their find again, wanting to ask why exactly Grace thought her husband had asked Doyle to drug his horse, but for the time being playing along with the obvious misdirection.

"So you suspect that Mr. O'Neill drugged Evening Wind? Would it be even possible to do so without the animal being familiar with him?"

The Doctor laughed.

"A horse has nothing on a stubborn ram, Inspector. You are wasting your time with me. Go talk to O'Neill. He had a lot more reason than I would." With that he rose. "Now, if you'll excuse me. My dinner is going cold."

Doyle left his three visitors standing in the sitting room, staring silently at each other.

"You don't actually believe that Luke... he didn't do it!" Grace ground out.

"Why the sudden change of mind?" Phryne asked casually.

"He denies it and I believe him," the blonde explained hotly. Jack couldn't help but wonder what exactly that conversation had entailed. Not that it really mattered. He didn't believe for a moment that O'Neill had anything to do with the horse murder. But there was terribly little reason for a veterinarian to kill his friend's animals either.

"I am curious, Mrs. Harper. Why did you accuse Doyle of 'doing your husband a favour'?"

To his surprise, Grace Harper went flustered at this.

"I don't know," she ground out. "It was just said in the heat of the moment. Now, I had better head home and see what Aidan has gotten up to. He's returned home drunk."

She shook her head, sending her blonde curls flying.

"Goodnight, Inspector, Mrs. Robinson."

Phryne grinned broadly.

"Goodnight."

Under Jack's polite farewell Grace fled the scene.

"Nobody seems really happy to see us, Jack," Phryne complained, taking his arm.

He donned his hat while they stepped over the threshold out into the night.

"That might be because they are all lying and we ask too many uncomfortable questions, Miss Fisher."

"That's a possibility," Phryne grinned. "Now, shall we head over to the O'Neill's farm?"

"Oh why not? Lets humour Doyle and see what tales they have to share with us tonight."

X

"You are still here, Mr. Wilson?"

Robert looked up from his paperwork to give a little smile to Berta.

"I am just done," he answered, closing the book.

"You're wife must be worried, you coming home so late," she said casually while she dusted the sideboard in the small office.

"I rather think she hasn't noticed my absence yet," he answered, screwing shut his inkwell.

"Oh no, that's horrible," the girl exclaimed.

"I was joking," Mr. Wilson smiled. "But it is Racing Day, so there will be an awful lot of excitement at the hotel. Depending of course on who the winner is."

A observant woman might have noticed the shadow stealing over his face. Berta Mooser was many things, but not observant.

"Oh, haven't you heard?" she asked. She made damned sure he knew everything about the race by the time he finally had sorted his desk and rammed his hat onto his head. Robert sighed when he stepped out into the warm evening. It was quite a walk from the school to the hotel, but at least it was silent. Following the road creeping through dark hills, he made his way home.

A car racing down the street with screeching tires shook him from his thoughts. Blinding headlights froze him to the spot as the huffing monster approached. Robert held his breath, sure that he was going to die. The automobile made a sharp sway to the right at the last moment, missing him by a mere few inches.

"Are you mad?" he screamed when the car came to a stop somewhat further down the hill.

"What are you doin' in the middle of the road, you idiot?" the driver slurred without any real conviction.

"Jesus, you are drunk off your head, man! What's wrong with you?!"

Harper shrugged, his eyes glassy.

"Move over, I'll get you home," Wilson decided, ready to climb into the car. "You are going to kill someone."

"I could think of people I wouldn't mind killing," Harper said darkly, but obediently moved over to the passenger's side. Robert shook his head at him but started the unfamiliar car. He had sat behind a wheel before but never driven anything quite so expensive. He rather hoped that he was a quick learner. Something about Harper's expression told him that he was not in a forgiving mood.


	26. Chapter 25: Strange Fits Of Passion

**I don't know about you, but I am still giddy with excitement about last night's episode - which makes it really hard to concentrate on writing or editing fanfic rather than watching Jack's hissyfit for the millionths time. But, I'm sure someone still wants to read this, so I didn't want to disappoint. :) Enjoy. **

**Chapter 25: Strange Fits Of Passion**

Luke O'Neill stared darkly at the vial on his kitchen table. His father's stony expression rested on the Detectives. Pete was more than willing to kick both of them out at a slightest wave from his son. But after having received a sharp berating from Luke after his appearance at the hotel earlier in the day, he grumpily accepted their presence in his house.

"Why on earth would Doyle leave morphine with us? We have had some issues with footrot lately and I asked him for his advice on a lamb that just didn't respond to treatment. But that's hardly a reason for morphine."

"To be perfectly honest with you, Mr. O'Neill, I believe Dr. Doyle is attempting to misdirect us."

Jack rested his hands on the table-top, ignoring the string of swearwords coming from the older farmer's mouth and instead concentrating on his son. "And I really wonder why."

"That's not hard to guess," Luke said. "He's a friend of Aidan's. They may have made a pact to blame the murder on me."

"But then the possible benefit of framing you would hardly warrant for Mr. Harper to kill his highly priced horse."

"Even though his wife seems to think otherwise," Phryne pushed in, casually watching Luke turn a shade paler.

"Grace...?"

"Believes that Dr. Doyle has done Mr. Harper 'a favour' by slaughtering Evening Wind. Even though she suffered a sudden spell of amnesia when we asked her to explain this accusation further," the Lady Detective smiled. Luke slowly shook his head.

"I'll believe at the blink of an eye that Aidan would frame me for this, but he wouldn't get blood on his hands just to get back at me," the farmer explained. "I can't believe that."

"He's always been a spoiled brat," Pete O'Neill murmured.

"Father!"

"It's true. Hard to believe that you two are related. And poor Gracy, she should have married you instead of that ungrateful imbecile! Then you wouldn't-"

The young farmer jumped up so fast that his chair tumbled.

"That's enough, Father!"

The two men glowered at each other in righteous anger for a long moment, then the older man rose.

"I believe your mother has retired early with a headache. I had better look after her."

"You'd better," Luke said, his voice still trembling. He sat slowly back down while his father left the kitchen.

"I apologize for my outburst. He does drive me to distraction at times."

Jack could feel Phryne's amused glance.

"Believe me, I do understand," he smiled. "Now, Mr. O'Neill..."

The two men were distracted by Phryne getting to her feet and wandering over to a sideboard where she studied an array of pictures. She had spotted something but couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"Is this Evie Harper's wedding party?" she asked, raising a heavily framed photograph for the farmer to see.

He nodded. "My Aunt Evie. Also married a Harper. I've never got to know her."

"Who is this gentleman?" Phryne asked, her nail tapping at the face of an elderly man in uniform.

"That was my grandfather," Luke explained, accepting the picture from her hands. "He led her to the altar, sadly passed away only a year later."

Jack was now looking over the farmer's shoulder, spotting what Phryne had minutes earlier.

"Those medals... are they still in the family?" he asked, breathlessly.

Luke frowned.

"Most of them, I believe. I've never seen this one though. Aunt Evie wore it after his death. They were very close."

He got to his feet and opened the top drawer, fishing for a wooden box with small flowers on the lid.

"I believe there is a picture here, taken after Aidan's birth."

Phryne almost snatched the photograph from his hands. Indeed it was a slightly older Evie Harper, her husband standing behind her, a small baby in her arms and what was pinned to her blouse was the very picture of the medal wrapped up in Phryne's handbag, currently burning a hole into the fabric.

"We might have to keep this picture for the time being," Jack explained, gently wrestling the photograph from his wife's fingers. Luke's frown deepened.

"What does Aunt Evie's medal have to do with Evening Wind?" he asked.

"We aren't certain yet," the Inspector stated. Phryne bit her lip but couldn't help but add:

"But something is very, very foul here."

X

She turned restlessly.

"Are you asleep?" Rupert whispered into the night.

"No. But then neither are you."

Iris didn't even sound particularly tired.

"You breath too loudly for a man to get rest," he answered, earning himself an elbow to the ribs before his wife rolled over to glance at him in the darkness. There was silence while they both contemplated the things they usually weren't willing to speak about.

"Why have you never told me how you felt about Christian's presence in our lives?" she finally asked bravely. He shrugged.

"You knew. Or why else would you have hidden his ashes?"

"Because such a situation is beyond awkward," she pointed out. "And also very personal."

Rupert lay still on his back, staring at the ceiling where the moon was drawing patterns.

"That's just it, isn't it? It's personal and has nothing to do with me."

A hand dove under the sheets, fishing for his fingers.

"Everything regarding me has to do with you. You are my husband."

He stayed silent for a long time after this and his voice was suspiciously rough when he finally found words to express his emotions.

"It is hard to grasp at times that there was someone else you've loved."

Iris pulled herself into a sitting position, Phryne's words echoing in her ears.

"Of course I've loved my husband, surely you wouldn't expect anything less from me?"

Rupert's bitter smile stayed invisible in the dark.

"Your husband..."

"He was," she insisted stubbornly.

"And so he would still be if he hadn't died," Rupert pointed out with sudden calmness. "Now he's always frozen in time. Young and perfect."

There was silence for a long moment while both contemplated this.

"Who said anything about perfect?" Iris asked, ripping her husband from his dark thoughts. Rupert turned his head in wonder.

"He had a lisp," she smiled fondly. "And when he was drunk he used to snore so loudly that I had to sleep in another room. He always mixed up his cutlery at the dining table if he remembered to help me out of my coat I was tempted to make a red mark in my calendar..."

Her husband had fallen silent. She never spoke much of Christian and she certainly had never told him about his shortcomings.

"But he was also lovely and gentle and brave," she ended. "And yes, I did love him or I wouldn't have married him. I still do."

She could hear Rupert's breath catch and hurried on.

"I won't deny that I'll always carry him in my heart." She touched her husband's cheek which was suspiciously wet. "The years after his death were the hardest in my life. But I have grown older and I've found love again and a new happiness. Thanks to _you_."

He opened his mouth, but she laid a finger to his lips, rendering him quiet.

"So don't you ever dare consider yourself an afterthought, Rupert Walker! I thank the Heavens every day that I've found you."

There was a pause, in which she anxiously wondered if she had said enough – or too much.

"I believe it was me doing the finding."

Iris wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at his cheeky comment, uttered in a voice fit to burst with emotion.

"So you did."

She leaned in to kiss him but was pulled off balance. With a shriek she collapsed into the pillows.

"I love you," he mumbled.

"I love you too, you silly man," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his ear.

"I'm quite certain that my obedient wife isn't supposed to insult me," he grumbled with absolutely no sincerity.

"You have married the wrong woman then," she quipped, snuggling into his warm body.

"It appears I have."

His arms belied this statement in twelve different languages.

X

In the next room another couple wasn't quite as comfortable.

"I can't make out a name," Jack complained, his fingertips trailing over the rough surface.

"Try this."

A gilded magnifying glass was shoved into his hand. He threw Phryne a disbelieving look.

"It's quite impossible to guess how you fit all of those things into one small handbag," he quipped, returning his attention to the evidence without waiting for her answer.

"I am incredibly skilled," she grinned, leaning over him to have a closer look herself.

"No doubt."

Her warm arm casually snuck around his chest as she glanced over his shoulder and the Inspector suddenly realised how tired he was. Between the joy of Phryne's recovery and the rush of investigating, he hadn't noticed the day slipping through their fingers, but the hour had grown late and the headache that had been waiting in the shadows was beginning to use his exhaustion against him.

"It's a New Zealand Medal, fitting Mr. O'Neill's description. Surely that's enough evidence," Phryne grumbled.

"Of course, there were only a few thousand issued of them," the Inspector quipped, attempting further to decipher the writing that had suffered from decades of exposure.

"Quite a coincidence though," Phryne stated grimly. He let the piece sink.

"Lets for a moment entertain the idea that this is the very medal pinned to Mrs. Harper's chest when she disappeared. How did it end up on top of Hanging Rock?"

Phryne chewed on her lip but had to admit that she had no answer.

"Maybe she was murdered up there?"

"Her husband, foaming of jealousy, took her up to the Rock to shoot her in a public place rather than murder her in the privacy of their home?"

"Makes terribly little sense," Phryne admitted before she released Jack and flung herself into another armchair, resting her legs on the coffee table.

The Inspector watched her fondly as she stretched her limbs, then he yawned with a glance at his watch.

"I believe the answers will have to wait until the morning."

He rose while Phryne pulled herself back into a sitting position.

"I gave Mac my word that we'd return to the city in the morrow," she said, worry darkening her features. Jack, fiddling with the knot of his tie, grinned.

"And since when will you allow a promise to keep you away from murder, Miss Fisher?"

She huffed at this, getting up and grabbing for his tie.

"You are not calling me dishonourable, are you, Inspector?"

"I wouldn't go that far," he said, watching her undo the knot with skilled fingers. "Maybe a tad outrageous."

She smirked, continuing to undress him.

"I can live with outrageous."

She aimed her eyes at him underneath half-closed lids with this mischievous glimmer that had always made his knees tremble.

"In fact I tend to enjoy it."

Jack gulped, but took her hands from himself and pressed a kiss to her palm.

"As do I, but me and my aching body are hoping to get some sleep tonight."

It was the truth. He truly wanted to give into his urges but in his sober mind knew that he would regret the decision in the morning. It had been a long day and after all the abuse his body had taken lately he was more sore and tired than he cared to admit. For a brief moment it seemed as if she was going to fight his resolve.

"Sleep sounds like a wonderful plan," she smiled instead, pushing the coat from his shoulders. Jack surrendered to her undressing him. There was a tenderness to her touch that was of a surprisingly unerotic nature, but enjoyable nevertheless. After a moment of confusion Jack began unbuttoning her blouse, slipping her camisole over her head. They worked in silence. Lastly Jack removed Phryne's knife, lying it onto the table while she rolled down her stockings and switched off the light.

"Come," she whispered and he took her hand, slipping onto the covers with her. They got comfortable, facing each other in the dark.

"Thank you," she said while settling a hand on his hipbone.

"What for, Miss Fisher?"

"Humouring my strange fits of passion."

Her eyes were huge and glimmered in the dark.

"It appears your overactive mind was onto something," he pointed out.

"What, however, remains to be seen," she sighed, turning and curling up against him. The Inspector took in the scent of her hair, letting his eyes fall shut.

"Do you believe she truly was murdered?" she asked into his darkness. He didn't move.

"Of course."

Surprised, she twisted her head towards him.

"You don't do holidays without murder, Miss Fisher."

He grinned while she tried to find evidence to argue this.

"I refuse any blame for murder being drawn to me," she finally pouted when she came up empty.

"Like moths to a flame," he mumbled into her hair, pulling her closer. Comfortably wrapped together they fell asleep.


	27. Chapter 26: Bathed In Light

**Good evening. I believe there is a link which might be helpful for those of you who are still desperately waiting for Friday's episode. It's not great quality but who can wait for that when it comes to Miss Fisher? ****watch?v=nO2LrRMgN1Y (It's a youtube link, but fanfic will eat the rest, so you'll have to puzzle that together).  
**

**I would appreciate though if, after you are done with the squealing and screenshooting and discussing if it was indeed Phryne's bed, you would, however, come back and read tonight's chapter... eventually. Have fun!**

**Chapter 26: Bathed In Light**

The chair. The bounds. Neither surprised him. He dreamed of them often. But something was different. He wasn't in Browning's basement. Instead the gloomy surroundings looked like a crypt. With a start Jack recognised the place. The voice startled him, but he found himself unable to move even his head.

"Ahh, Miss Fisher."

'Get out of here,' Jack silently pleaded in his head. 'It's Foyle.'

He listened to the killer baiting her, silently praying that she would leave while rage bubbled in his stomach. A heavy hand fell onto his shoulder, waking in him the urge to recoil, but his limbs seemed to be made of lead. They wouldn't budge.

"Jack?" he heard her call. His tongue refused service. He watched the shock spread over her features like a forest fire, devastating and all-consuming.

"No, you can't do that! You cannot be dead!"

Her hand was warm on his shoulder, shaking him. Much more pleasant than Foyle's, he caught himself thinking. But Phryne didn't think it pleasant at all. She stumbled backwards, fell over her own feet. He tried to tear on his bounds, wanted to reach her as he watched her hit the ground, but to no avail. Slowly her words sank in.

'I'm not dead,' he yelled, but nothing came out of his mouth.

His wife was curled up on the floor, sobbing.

'Phryne!'

She couldn't hear him and Jack wanted to cry and scream with impotent anger. He wasn't dead! Or maybe... he was! The sudden coldness was a shock to the system and he didn't have time to contemplate it as the crypt dissolved along with Phryne in front of his eyes.

A hand touched his arm and he'd almost punched the man in the face before he managed to stop himself. Panting, he came to his senses.

"She's right, you know?" the man asked casually. Jack dragged the cold night air into his stinging lungs before he felt ready to answer.

"She usually is."

He spun, feeling the rock under his naked feet.

"Does that mean I am going to die?" he asked.

"Of course."

He nodded grimly, trying to fight back the panic rising in his throat.

"We'll all die eventually, Inspector."

Jack let the air escape from his lungs.

"That isn't a very satisfying answer," he hissed.

"I'm not here to give you answers," Jalboo smiled.

"Why are you here?"

"To point you to the right questions."

Jack fought very hard to keep his fists by his side. This wasn't a game! But then, his niggling voice of sense told him to listen. He raised his eyes to the night sky.

"Is this where Phryne found the medal?" he asked Jalboo, who now stood near the edge. There was no clue as to how he had moved there.

"It is."

"And it belonged to Evie Harper?"

"You know better than to ask that."

"So, what was she doing up here?"

Jalboo turned, grinning.

"See, Inspector? That's the question."

With a start Jack's eyes snapped open. Phryne groaned, but didn't wake and for once he was grateful for it. He didn't think he'd be able to hide his fear from her right now and he had no intention at all of stirring up her own again. Pressing her to himself, he willed his breath to slow down. Her warmth and steadily rising chest managed to calm him and his spinning thoughts.

So, the dream was nonsense, but in the end, one thing was correct: The question was indeed what Evie Harper had done on the Rock. There was no doubt on his mind that she had died rather than disappeared, but had she lost the medal then? Or earlier? Had the murderer even tried to dispose of evidence? He needed to see the place Phryne had found it at. The decision had grown solid by the time the first grey morning light filtered through the flowery curtains. He carefully rose, fishing his discarded clothes from the floor. He was quickly running out of fresh shirts. Mr. Butler's psychic skills had not foreseen the amount of blood stains and hay he would encounter. Tying his shoes, Jack glanced at the bed. Phryne was still fast asleep, which was some relief. He could hardly berate her for heading up to the Rock in the early hours of the morning and then do so himself without rendering himself a hypocrite.

"Where are you going?" she asked without opening her eyes.

Defeated he straightened. Of course, he couldn't hide anything from her.

"To answer questions," he stated vaguely.

"You are not intending to climb around on the Rock on your own, are you?"

Jack didn't ask how she knew where he was headed. He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

"I was, Miss Fisher, but something tells me that is not an option any more."

Her smile indeed expressed everything he needed to know and strangely he was entirely too grateful for her intrusion to object.

X

The wet nose shoving into his hand didn't surprise him. Angus's paws pattering over the floorboards had intruded into the half-sleep that he had been tossing and turning in for most of the night. Luke was well aware that he had slept in again but lately it became harder and harder to rise. Surprisingly, both of his parents were yet to lose a word about his laziness. In fact they seemed to ignore the change he was going through almost purposefully. But the deepening lines in his mother's face caused him to suspect that she knew all the same. In those moments his guilt was overwhelming.

He dragged his aching limbs to the washing bowl and then outside into the fresh morning. Pete and Jalboo sat at the breakfast table, sharing a newspaper. Neither looked up when the young farmer arrived. There hung a vibe of sleeplessness and annoyance in the air and Luke drank his coffee black and as quickly as he could.

"We'd better see after the pasture 'round the racetrack today," Pete grumbled into his paper. "Last year the spectators left plenty of damage. We don't wanna lose any more lambs."

Luke was almost relieved for something to do and jumped to his feet so fast that the cups shook on the table. A penetrating stare from Jalboo measured him.

"You right, lad?"

He'd almost admitted that he wasn't. But with a glance at his father he mumbled an excuse and fled the scene. Minutes later he was saddling Mary, who was surprised but excited to get out into the fields this early.

"Luke?"

Laura stepped out of the shadows while he continued his work. He really didn't feel like talking right now.

"You know we love you, don't you?"

He snapped around, frowning.

"What makes you ask that?"

She shrugged, looking like she was about to cry.

"You seem... unhappy."

"I'm fine, Mother," he lied, hugging her tightly. "I am just looking for my way."

She smiled melancholy at this.

"And I love you, too," he added.

Reluctantly she retreated and watched him ride away into the sunrise, Angus chasing behind the horse with much longer legs. When Laura returned to the veranda, she found her husband in a heated argument with Jalboo.

X

"Iris is right," Phryne sighed where she was standing and looking at the rising red globe in the distance. Jack was crouched at her feet, inspecting the crevice she had pointed out to him. Now he looked up.

"About?"

"The view up here is stunning," she said. He found himself confused at her sudden change of mind. Especially since he himself couldn't seem to get away from this place fast enough. His nightmare had left him unsettled to say the least and being here in reality only hours later appeared unreal. He tried to concentrate on the job at hand and continued poking around in the crevice, grateful for the protection of his leather gloves.

"It's a strange angle," he mumbled to himself. Phryne tore her attention away from the blood red sky and joined him.

"The opening is angled towards the rock," he explained. "If you found the medal on this side... It would have been hard pressed to fall there if lost."

"You believe it was stored in there on purpose? By Evie Harper?"

Jack raised his brows in thought, letting his eyes sweep up the sharp rock.

"Or by her killer."

"An attempt at hiding her identity?"

"But her body has never been found," Jack thought aloud.

"And the people in the area would recognise her, medal or not," Phryne added, brushing dirt from her trousers.

"What if she knew she was going to die?" Jack asked into the silence, shuddering. "And brought her treasure to a safe place?"

Phryne glanced at her husband, realising how glaring his bruises were in the morning light against his pale skin, stubbornly ignoring the knot in her stomach. She really was trying to be reasonable and collected. But he'd barely slept last night, she had felt him stirring several times and at least once wake from a nightmare. And Mac was right, she had been there before. Her fears, however, hadn't been unfounded at all - merely aimed in the wrong direction. She needed to keep a sharp mind if she wanted a fighting chance at battling whatever threat was coming their way.

"Let's go have some breakfast, Inspector," she said happier than she felt, grasping for his arm. "With something in your stomach you might be thinking clearer."

He couldn't resist jumping at the teasing in that sentence and a spot of light bickering accompanied them on their climb back down to the Hispano. Morning fog rose over the fields when they stepped into the clear, the Kurrajong Tree almost black against the flaming sky. Phryne froze when she spotted a horse, then noticed the figure kneeling underneath the branches.

"That's..."

She didn't speak any further. Jack was already running. They arrived at the two men at the same time. The picture that greeted them was chilling. Luke was clutching the lifeless body to his chest, rocking in absolute silence.

"Mr. O'Neill?"

There was no reaction. Phryne touched his shoulder.

"Luke?"

The young farmer finally looked up, his eyes hollow.

"He's dead," he said tonelessly. Jack felt Aidan Harper's neck, looking for a pulse, even though he had little hope. He shook his head at Phryne. The man was already stone cold, he had been dead for hours.

"What happened?" Phryne asked, crouching down beside the man who seemed unwilling to release his cousin's body. She could hear Jack think about his crime scene, but every fibre in her body screamed that this needed to be approached gently.

"I don't know," Luke mumbled. "I came to look after the pasture and the fence and he was just lying here..."

He returned to silently rocking the other man and Phryne helplessly looked up at Jack. She'd seen many grief-stricken people in her career but the sight of the two men dipped in morning light was so disturbing that she felt the urge to run. The dog who had been sitting motionlessly beside his master now edged closer, pushing his nose between him and the corpse he was holding onto.

"We'd better get you home," the Inspector said as calmly as he could muster. Luke seemed to wake from a dream.

"I can't just leave him here... and Grace, oh God..." His voice was cracking. It was a heartbreaking and Phryne felt tears rise in her throat.

"I'll stay with him," Jack decided, gently peeling Harper's body from his old friend's arms. Reluctantly Luke allowed himself to be heaved to his feet by Phryne. She hated to leave Jack behind with a dead man in no man's land but Luke O'Neill was clearly in no position to stay here.

Like a child she led the grown man towards the Hispano. She briefly glanced back at Jack, who was currently laying out the body in the dirt. She had seen the gaping bullet wound in Harper's chest - it was murder and Luke had more than tempered with the evidence. Yet she had a hard time to be angry with the Farmer, he was obviously not thinking clearly. She opened the door mindlessly, letting Angus jump into the backseat before she climbed behind the wheel. Speeding away with screeching tyres, Phryne knew that she would break any speed limit under the sun and return in no time at all. The resolve didn't comfort her in the slightest when Jack's silhouette disappeared in the distance.

"Ahh, Miss Fisher."

'Get out of here,' Jack silently pleaded in his head. 'It's Foyle.'

He listened to the killer baiting her, silently praying that she would leave while rage bubbled in his stomach. A heavy hand fell onto his shoulder, waking in him the urge to recoil, but his limbs seemed to be made of lead. They wouldn't budge.

"Jack?" he heard her call. His tongue refused service. He watched the shock spread over her features like a forest fire, devastating and all-consuming.

"No, you can't do that! You cannot be dead!"

Her hand was warm on his shoulder, shaking him. Much more pleasant than Foyle's, he caught himself thinking. But Phryne didn't think it pleasant at all. She stumbled backwards, fell over her own feet. He tried to tear on his bounds, wanted to reach her as he watched her hit the ground, but to no avail. Slowly her words sank in.

'I'm not dead,' he yelled, but nothing came out of his mouth.

His wife was curled up on the floor, sobbing.

'Phryne!'

She couldn't hear him and Jack wanted to cry and scream with impotent anger. He wasn't dead! Or maybe... he was! The sudden coldness was a shock to the system and he didn't have time to contemplate it as the crypt dissolved along with Phryne in front of his eyes.

A hand touched his arm and he'd almost punched the man in the face before he managed to stop himself. Panting, he came to his senses.

"She's right, you know?" the man asked casually. Jack dragged the cold night air into his stinging lungs before he felt ready to answer.

"She usually is."

He spun, feeling the rock under his naked feet.

"Does that mean I am going to die?" he asked.

"Of course."

He nodded grimly, trying to fight back the panic rising in his throat.

"We'll all die eventually, Inspector."

Jack let the air escape from his lungs.

"That isn't a very satisfying answer," he hissed.

"I'm not here to give you answers," Jalboo smiled.

"Why are you here?"

"To point you to the right questions."

Jack fought very hard to keep his fists by his side. This wasn't a game! But then, his niggling voice of sense told him to listen. He raised his eyes to the night sky.

"Is this where Phryne found the medal?" he asked Jalboo, who now stood near the edge. There was no clue as to how he had moved there.

"It is."

"And it belonged to Evie Harper?"

"You know better than to ask that."

"So, what was she doing up here?"

Jalboo turned, grinning.

"See, Inspector? That's the question."

With a start Jack's eyes snapped open. Phryne groaned, but didn't wake and for once he was grateful for it. He didn't think he'd be able to hide his fear from her right now and he had no intention at all of stirring up her own again. Pressing her to himself, he willed his breath to slow down. Her warmth and steadily rising chest managed to calm him and his spinning thoughts.

So, the dream was nonsense, but in the end, one thing was correct: The question was indeed what Evie Harper had done on the Rock. There was no doubt on his mind that she had died rather than disappeared, but had she lost the medal then? Or earlier? Had the murderer even tried to dispose of evidence? He needed to see the place Phryne had found it at. The decision had grown solid by the time the first grey morning light filtered through the flowery curtains. He carefully rose, fishing his discarded clothes from the floor. He was quickly running out of fresh shirts. Mr. Butler's psychic skills had not foreseen the amount of blood stains and hay he would encounter. Tying his shoes, Jack glanced at the bed. Phryne was still fast asleep, which was some relief. He could hardly berate her for heading up to the Rock in the early hours of the morning and then do so himself without rendering himself a hypocrite.

"Where are you going?" she asked without opening her eyes.

Defeated he straightened. Of course, he couldn't hide anything from her.

"To answer questions," he stated vaguely.

"You are not intending to climb around on the Rock on your own, are you?"

Jack didn't ask how she knew where he was headed. He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

"I was, Miss Fisher, but something tells me that is not an option any more."

Her smile indeed expressed everything he needed to know and strangely he was entirely too grateful for her intrusion to object.

X

The wet nose shoving into his hand didn't surprise him. Angus's paws pattering over the floorboards had intruded into the half-sleep that he had been tossing and turning in for most of the night. Luke was well aware that he had slept in again but lately it became harder and harder to rise. Surprisingly, both of his parents were yet to lose a word about his laziness. In fact they seemed to ignore the change he was going through almost purposefully. But the deepening lines in his mother's face caused him to suspect that she knew all the same. In those moments his guilt was overwhelming.

He dragged his aching limbs to the washing bowl and then outside into the fresh morning. Pete and Jalboo sat at the breakfast table, sharing a newspaper. Neither looked up when the young farmer arrived. There hung a vibe of sleeplessness and annoyance in the air and Luke drank his coffee black and as quickly as he could.

"We'd better see after the pasture 'round the racetrack today," Pete grumbled into his paper. "Last year the spectators left plenty of damage. We don't wanna lose any more lambs."

Luke was almost relieved for something to do and jumped to his feet so fast that the cups shook on the table. A penetrating stare from Jalboo measured him.

"You right, lad?"

He'd almost admitted that he wasn't. But with a glance at his father he mumbled an excuse and fled the scene. Minutes later he was saddling Mary, who was surprised but excited to get out into the fields this early.

"Luke?"

Laura stepped out of the shadows while he continued his work. He really didn't feel like talking right now.

"You know we love you, don't you?"

He snapped around, frowning.

"What makes you ask that?"

She shrugged, looking like she was about to cry.

"You seem... unhappy."

"I'm fine, Mother," he lied, hugging her tightly. "I am just looking for my way."

She smiled melancholy at this.

"And I love you, too," he added.

Reluctantly she retreated and watched him ride away into the sunrise, Angus chasing behind the horse with much longer legs. When Laura returned to the veranda, she found her husband in a heated argument with Jalboo.

X

"Iris is right," Phryne sighed where she was standing and looking at the rising red globe in the distance. Jack was crouched at her feet, inspecting the crevice she had pointed out to him. Now he looked up.

"About?"

"The view up here is stunning," she said. He found himself confused at her sudden change of mind. Especially since he himself couldn't seem to get away from this place fast enough. His nightmare had left him unsettled to say the least and being here in reality only hours later appeared unreal. He tried to concentrate on the job at hand and continued poking around in the crevice, grateful for the protection of his leather gloves.

"It's a strange angle," he mumbled to himself. Phryne tore her attention away from the blood red sky and joined him.

"The opening is angled towards the rock," he explained. "If you found the medal on this side... It would have been hard pressed to fall there if lost."

"You believe it was stored in there on purpose? By Evie Harper?"

Jack raised his brows in thought, letting his eyes sweep up the sharp rock.

"Or by her killer."

"An attempt at hiding her identity?"

"But her body has never been found," Jack thought aloud.

"And the people in the area would recognise her, medal or not," Phryne added, brushing dirt from her trousers.

"What if she knew she was going to die?" Jack asked into the silence, shuddering. "And brought her treasure to a safe place?"

Phryne glanced at her husband, realising how glaring his bruises were in the morning light against his pale skin, stubbornly ignoring the knot in her stomach. She really was trying to be reasonable and collected. But he'd barely slept last night, she had felt him stirring several times and at least once wake from a nightmare. And Mac was right, she had been there before. Her fears, however, hadn't been unfounded at all - merely aimed in the wrong direction. She needed to keep a sharp mind if she wanted a fighting chance at battling whatever threat was coming their way.

"Let's go have some breakfast, Inspector," she said happier than she felt, grasping for his arm. "With something in your stomach you might be thinking clearer."

He couldn't resist jumping at the teasing in that sentence and a spot of light bickering accompanied them on their climb back down to the Hispano. Morning fog rose over the fields when they stepped into the clear, the Kurrajong Tree almost black against the flaming sky. Phryne froze when she spotted a horse, then noticed the figure kneeling underneath the branches.

"That's..."

She didn't speak any further. Jack was already running. They arrived at the two men at the same time. The picture that greeted them was chilling. Luke was clutching the lifeless body to his chest, rocking in absolute silence.

"Mr. O'Neill?"

There was no reaction. Phryne touched his shoulder.

"Luke?"

The young farmer finally looked up, his eyes hollow.

"He's dead," he said tonelessly. Jack felt Aidan Harper's neck, looking for a pulse, even though he had little hope. He shook his head at Phryne. The man was already stone cold, he had been dead for hours.

"What happened?" Phryne asked, crouching down beside the man who seemed unwilling to release his cousin's body. She could hear Jack think about his crime scene, but every fibre in her body screamed that this needed to be approached gently.

"I don't know," Luke mumbled. "I came to look after the pasture and the fence and he was just lying here..."

He returned to silently rocking the other man and Phryne helplessly looked up at Jack. She'd seen many grief-stricken people in her career but the sight of the two men dipped in morning light was so disturbing that she felt the urge to run. The dog who had been sitting motionlessly beside his master now edged closer, pushing his nose between him and the corpse he was holding onto.

"We'd better get you home," the Inspector said as calmly as he could muster. Luke seemed to wake from a dream.

"I can't just leave him here... and Grace, oh God..." His voice was cracking. It was a heartbreaking and Phryne felt tears rise in her throat.

"I'll stay with him," Jack decided, gently peeling Harper's body from his old friend's arms. Reluctantly Luke allowed himself to be heaved to his feet by Phryne. She hated to leave Jack behind with a dead man in no man's land but Luke O'Neill was clearly in no position to stay here.

Like a child she led the grown man towards the Hispano. She briefly glanced back at Jack, who was currently laying out the body in the dirt. She had seen the gaping bullet wound in Harper's chest - it was murder and Luke had more than tempered with the evidence. Yet she had a hard time to be angry with the Farmer, he was obviously not thinking clearly. She opened the door mindlessly, letting Angus jump into the backseat before she climbed behind the wheel. Speeding away with screeching tyres, Phryne knew that she would break any speed limit under the sun and return in no time at all. The resolve didn't comfort her in the slightest when Jack's silhouette disappeared in the distance.


	28. Chapter 27: The Far End Of The Earth

**Chapter 27: The Far End Of The Earth**

Jack was alone. Well, aside from a dead man, staring with empty eyes at the flaming sky. He crouched beside the corpse, wondering what to do with his time until Phryne had brought Luke O'Neill home, raised the alarm and returned to his side. He was certain that once upon a time he had managed to secure a crime scene all by himself. Right now, he couldn't seem to remember anything about it.

There was no cause of death to be determined - it was blatantly obvious. There was also no weapon, rendering suicide an all but impossible option. So murder it was. And Miss Fisher wasn't here. Jack felt a bitter laugh rise in his throat, but really he wanted to cry. Instead of either he inspected the body again. There was nothing unusual in Harper's pockets, a pack of cigarettes, a wallet holding a little cash along with a picture of his wife, so no robbery. The corpse still smelled faintly of alcohol, reminding the Inspector that Grace had mentioned him drinking when they had split at Doyle's house.

Something lying a few feet away caught the Inspector's attention. A shovel that had been tossed into the brown grass, a few inches of dirt lifted. Had Harper dug here in the middle of the night? To what purpose?

Letting the reddish soil run through his fingers, the Inspector lifted his eyes back to the tree, the names, the date. A chill ran down his spine when a thought struck him.

By the time Phryne returned along with Mac and John and Sergeant Ferguson only minutes behind, she found Jack stripped down to his shirt, sleeves rolled up and covered in dirt, as he stood in a shallow hole he had managed to lift with Harper's shovel.

"What on earth are you doing?" John asked, first to find his voice.

"Finding out what Harper has been digging for," Jack gasped breathlessly without stopping. "Or rather whom."

Phryne stared briefly at him, then the tree, then her jaw dropped.

"A grave?" she asked, climbing into the dip.

"Evie Harper I'm guessing," Jack gasped. "And possibly her lover."

He drove the shovel back into the dirt with some anger. Why had he not thought of it before? They could have prevented Harper's murder if he'd just _thought_.

"Stop," Phryne said beside him, getting to her knees and starting to shift some loose dirt with her gloved hands. Jack wiped sweat from his brow while he watched her. With all eyes resting on her, the Lady-Detective laid free a piece of bone, then some more. They held their breath as the remains of a hand turned suspicion into confirmation: a human being had been buried under the shade of the tree.

"What happened here? I got the strangest of telephone calls," a tired voice asked. Jack turned, spotting a dishevelled looking policeman.

"Sergeant Ferguson, I presume?" he asked, crawling out of Evie Harper's shallow grave. "Inspector Robinson. You'd better get some men out here. There have been two murders. Possibly three."

X

Oblivious to her employer's discovery, Dorothy Collins was currently stepping into a bakery, greeted by the delicious smell of freshly baked bread.

"Mornin' Miss," a young man greeted her. She squinted at him briefly, but even in the morning light he looked nothing like the face inside the locket. She smiled her most charming smile as she returned his greeting and ordered a loaf.

"I am looking for Patrick?" she asked, while he wrapped up her bread. The young man started.

"Has the old chap done it again?" he asked with a frown. "The man can't stop charmin' the ladies. I wouldn't take it personally if I was you, Miss."

Dot straightened her back.

"I'll have you know that I am married," she said stiffly, "and Mr. Patrick has not_ charmed_ me. I am looking for him for purely professional reasons."

"Professional, ey?" the young man asked, handing her the loaf, then he turned, "Paddy! Paddy, there is a girl here, waitin' for ya. For something 'professional'."

Dot heard laughter sounding from multiple throats and felt herself blush furiously.

"Thank you," she ground out, clutching the still warm bread to her chest like a weapon.

"No worries, Miss."

The young man was already busy with the next woman in line and Dot stepped aside, feeling oddly misplaced. Moments later a friendly male face poked out from the back. This time he was very familiar.

"Mr. Patrick?" she asked. He came closer, taking a white hat from his head.

"Patrick Boyle, Miss. Should I know you?"

Dot shook her head, biting her bottom lip while absent-mindedly staring at two chattering maids who were just stepping through the door, causing the bell above it to ring a happy little melody in the progress.

"This might sound very odd now, but are you at all acquainted with Miss Nora Aberville?"

She looked up and watched a strange expression briefly crossing his face. It might have been surprise, or something else entirely.

"Nora Aberville?" he asked slowly. "She is a friend of my little sister Roberta's. Is she all right?"

"Perfectly," Dorothy answered, turning towards the door. "Oh, just one more question. Is your sister by chance missing a necklace?"

He frowned at her enquiry.

"Not that I'd know. Who exactly are you again?"

Dot disappeared with her heart beating in her chest before he could insist she answer his questions.

X

"What do you have for me?" Jack asked Mac, who was bent over a naked body stretched out onto table, he suspected the Sergeant usually ate his lunches on. A habit he would reconsider in future.

"Merely the obvious," the Doctor answered. "Died some hours ago, I'd put my money on before midnight. Appears to have been shot from close distance with a handgun."

She raised a bloody bullet from a metal bowl with a pair of tweezers. "I fear I can't tell you any more about the weapon. I'm specialised on living people and I hate firearms. You'll have to send this down to Melbourne."

"Thank you, Mac."

She smiled thinly as he left, without looking up from covering the body. Jack knew that there was an elderly Doctor living in town but the Inspector preferred his friend to take care of this nasty business every day of the week. His next way would have to be to the widow, a task that he despised, yet he appeared to be the only one capable of it at the moment. Sergeant Ferguson was still at the Rock, overseeing the uncovering of Evie Harper's bones while Phryne had returned to the hotel to break gently to their family that leaving today was not an option. At least not for most of them.

X

"You can't do that!" Jane howled.

Phryne swallowed down her annoyance and sat down on the bed, patting the cover beside herself.

Obediently, if grumpily, her daughter sat.

"I thought you'd be happy to return to Harry," her mother stated.

"Not while you are all still here, with murderers and threats and you fearing for Jack..."

Phryne started. She hadn't realised how much her daughter had witnessed of all the trouble surrounding her.

"He is going to be just fine," she said, convincing Jane as much as herself and stroking a lock of hair behind the girl's ear. "We need to find this murderer though."

"I could help you."

The Lady-Detective shook her head at the big blue eyes aimed at her.

"I need you to go home... Please, Jane."

She wanted to explain that she needed to keep an eye on Jack and that she couldn't do that if she had to worry about Jane being hurt as well. And that she was truly scared now for both of them. But she said neither and her daughter understood all the same.

"You're not punishing me for the tree, are you?" Jane asked. Her mother shook her head.

"I just want you to be save."

For a long moment Jane seemed to ponder this, then she nodded bravely.

"Promise me you'll take care," she demanded.

"We will."

Phryne smiled thinly as she wrapped her daughter in her arms.

"I'll take very good care of him," she whispered, almost inaudibly.

X

Luke was pacing his bedroom in his pyjamas, listening to the argument downstairs. He had been sent to bed by his very worried mother shortly after his return home in the company of this Lady-Detective, but there was no way on earth he could get to sleep. The voices from the kitchen grew louder, but it stayed impossible to make out any sense.

His father was fighting with Jalboo, that much was clear. It had to be about Aidan's death. Luke wondered dimly if the Inspector had been to see Grace yet, if she knew.

He turned, resolved to leave just when the door opened and his mother stepped over the threshold, holding a cup of tea in her hands.

"You need to lie down, Son," she said before gently pushing him onto the edge of his bed.

"I can't sleep while Aidan's lying dead on a slab," Luke protested stubbornly. His mother sighed, giving him that look that he had never been able to argue with. Defeated his shaking fingers accepted the cup from her hands.

"Drink," she urged.

The tea was lukewarm and sweet and calming his nerves somewhat. Under her stubborn, silent watch he finished it in small sips.

"I need to go talk to Grace," Luke insisted, when the empty porcelain was taken from him.

"Ferguson will tell her," Laura said gently, "you need to get some rest."

Luke nodded grimly, not believing a word.

"You know, I always thought we had all the time in the world to reconcile," he said grimly after several minutes of thick, suffocating silence. His mother just stood, pale and worried leaning against the window seal. "And now it's too late. To late for anything."

Laura's face darkened further.

"Don't talk like that," she whispered. "Please don't ever talk like that."

The young Farmer realised that his limbs were incredibly heavy. He needed to lie down, just for a moment. Then he'd go and talk to Grace... half-conscious he felt his mother pulling a blanket over him.

"Sleep my boy," she whispered. "It will be all be better tomorrow."

A kiss was pressed to his cheek. Somewhere in his fuzzy mind Luke remembered the vial of sleeping pills by her bedside. She had tricked him. But he was too tired to be mad at her.

X

The silence filling the Queen Victoria Hotel was almost ghostly. Even Rosemary Wilson, usually a constant presence was nowhere to be seen. Quiet voices drew the Inspector towards the private tearoom behind the counter. The moment he knocked against the open door he realised that there was no need for him to inform Harper's next-of-kin. Grace was wedged between Fefe Tattler and Mia Green with Rosemary currently setting a cup of tea onto the table. The farmer's wife raised her eyes at his entry, questions written all through them.

"My husband?" she asked with a hint of hope. He nodded grimly.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs. Harper."

He found that he was still standing in the middle of the room, twisting his hat in his hands. How he hated those conversations.

"When was the last time you saw him?" he asked into uncomfortable silence.

She bit her lip.

"Last night before I went to visit Doyle. He was drunk, angry. We fought." She dipped her head. "He was gone when I returned. He'd taken the car. I assumed that he had gone back to the pub... Until about five this morning, when I realised that his pistol was missing also. I thought..."

She didn't reveal what she'd though, but Jack nodded all the same.

"Take a seat, Inspector. Would you like some tea?" Rosemary said quietly beside him.

"Coffee rather, if I could," he said, feeling terrible for being fussy, yet knowing that tea wouldn't do the trick today.

"Of course."

She bustled away.

"Can you give me a description of said pistol?" he asked, obediently pulling out a chair. The scraping of wood over the floorboard was disgustingly loud. Grace Harper started at his question.

"Did he...?"

Jack shook his head.

"We didn't find a weapon. It appears someone else shot the gun, but it might have been his own."

She nodded.

"I'm not certain about the model, but Luke can probably tell you. He helped him pick it, back in the day."

She lifted her teacup, but put it back onto the saucer without drinking.

"Inspector, is it true that he found him?"

Jack felt three pairs of eyes borrowing into him. He gulped in the knowledge that there was a different question hidden here, one that was a lot more important to all of them.

"My wife and I discovered them together at the foot of Hanging Rock early this morning," he explained carefully. "But your husband died late last night, Mrs. Harper."

"So, Luke didn't...?"

She let the end of the sentence hang in the air. Jack shook his head.

"Mr. O'Neill was in complete shock. I wouldn't assume that he has anything to do with the murder."

Grace tried her hardest to hide her relief, but it didn't go amiss on Jack's watchful eyes.

"What was he doing out there? In the middle of the night?" the until now quietly following Miss Green asked. The Inspector took a deep breath. This was the part that he might hate even more.

"I believe he was searching for his mother," he explained with forced calmness.

The women shared some confused looks.

"Evie? But... how?"

Felicity Tattler couldn't seem to form a complete sentence and Jack dipped his eyes onto the table. He hated destroying delusions and hopes.

"Mrs. Tattler, it appears we found your friend's remains at the crime scene. Buried under the very tree we talked about the other day."

A synchronized gasp went around the table.

"Someone had begun to dig in the dirt. We can only guess that Mr. Harper had somehow realised that his mother was murdered."

"And whoever killed her...?"

"May have killed again to protect his secret," Jack finished Miss Green's sentence. "Of course that is all purely speculation at this stage."

"God," Grace gasped behind a hand. "He was so obsessed with the idea that she had abandoned him. If he'd found that she hadn't left him on purpose at all..."

Her eyes for the first time in the conversation went glassy and Miss Green wrapped a protective arm around her.

"Can I speak to you for a moment, Inspector?" Mrs. Tattler asked quietly. Jack nodded without taking his eyes of the women. They rose, stepping over into the small office that he already knew.

"I'm sorry," the Inspector said, when the door closed behind them. "It must be a terrible shock after all those years."

She leaned pale against the desk.

"It certainly is. But I... I wanted to tell you this yesterday, Inspector, but it didn't seem right to reveal a secret I've been keeping for so many years in front of everybody. Now, things have changed of course."

Jack held his breath.

"Evie was with child when she left." Felicity pulled a pained grimace. "Or murdered as it appears now."

The Inspector let the air escape with a slight hiss.

"Her husband hadn't dared touch her since Aidan's birth," she added, destroying all doubt.

"That would certainly be a reason to run away," Jack thought aloud. His opposite nodded.

"So, I wasn't at all surprised when she ran away. Merely that she didn't leave me the slightest of messages was hurtful. We were good friends."

The older Lady played nervously with her hands, then smiled thinly.

"Now I feel terrible for thinking her thoughtless all those years."

She was heavily swaying under the weight of her guilt and Jack gently helped her into a chair.

"You kept her secret all those years," he soothed the shaken woman. "I'm certain she would have appreciated your loyalty."

"I protected her murderer."

He nodded grimly.

"You may have inadvertently done that, Mrs. Tattler. But now we can bring him to justice."

She nodded slowly, then took his hand from her arm and pressed it gratefully.

"I trust you will do that, Inspector."

Jack swallowed down any comments. He truly hoped he would prove worthy of the trust placed in him.


	29. Chapter 28: Yours, Mine And The Truth

**Thanks once again to all of you who went through the trouble of letting me know what you thought. I appreciate some feedback. But I also do hope that the quiet ones enjoy this little tale as well, as it is not shaping up to be a short one (Chapter 28 might be a hint there). And yes, of course it was Phryne's bed. I wouldn't have expected anything less from her. ;)**

**Chapter 28: Yours, Mine And The Truth**

"You seem awfully cheery," Tobias Butler smiled, when Dot laid the loaf of bread onto the kitchen table, humming under her breath.

"I am relieved, Mr. B. You were right! The necklace was indeed lost by her friend Roberta."

A somewhat muffled voice answered her from within the oven he was currently scrubbing: "I am very glad to hear it."

A moment later his bold head appeared, a dark streak of grease on his cheek that caused Dot to bite her lip in amusement.

"Does that mean all the charges against Miss Aberville are dismissed?" he asked, attempting to wipe some sweat from his brow and smearing the dark streak further.

"Well, the silver strainer is still missing," she said.

"Oh, actually I have news there," Mr. Butler explained. "Mrs. Robinson must have stored it in the dining room behind the crystal."

"That seems unusual for her," Dot wondered for a brief moment.

"But then our employer is an unusual woman," Mr. B smiled, taking off his apron. "I had better get on my way to the market. They should return late in the afternoon."

Dot couldn't help but giggle when he made every appearance of leaving.

"Is something amusing you, Dorothy?"

She fished a handkerchief from her pocket.

"Allow me."

He held still while she wiped the grease from his face.

"Now that's much better," she finally decided.

Just then the telephone rang.

X

Jack riffled through his pockets, hoping for a stray cigarette, but in vain. He hankered for a smoke in the cool morning air before regrouping with Phryne, but luck seemed not on his side today. A horse stared at him from where she was eating Mrs. Tattler's Geraniums, obviously still recovering from a rather inelegant ride back to Woodend.

Mary had grown more anxious the more people had arrived at the foot of Hanging Rock and finally Jack had taken pity on the filly. He feared he might never hear the end of it from Phryne. A second horse had joined her in the garden behind the hotel since he had released her there on Mrs. Wilson's orders. Athena was currently inspecting the picket fence that seemed completely misplaced, before lazily trotting over to Mary and rubbing her head against the other filly's neck. A question sparked in Jack's brain that he remembered having intended to ask before.

"Would you care for a cigarette?" Mia Green asked beside him. He took the offered gasper without hesitation but with utter gratitude.

"A terrible habit," she mused after he had given her fire and she'd dragged a cloud of smoke into her lungs. The Inspector couldn't argue with that. He usually restricted his smoking to moments in which he felt unsettled. Today was the perfect time to indulge in it. Uncomfortable silence settled in, there truly were no words that needed saying. Or so it seemed until Miss Green suddenly said something he hadn't expected.

"She truly does mourn him, despite their differences."

Jack glanced at her, deciding to keep his surprise to himself.

"I didn't express any doubt on the matter," he explained instead.

"But you must think terrible things of their marriage, after what you've witnessed. And what Rosemary told you."

"Must I?" he asked, taking a deep drag.

"It's not the whole truth," Mia stated, obviously completely intent on getting this off her chest. He found himself amazed by how chatty she suddenly became when she felt the need to protect people she cared for. She stared far into the distance, her battle blatantly obvious.

"I have never shared this with anyone, Inspector and until this morning I had no intention to change that... Aidan was in love with Grace for years before Luke discovered his feelings. His cousin's plan to propose shocked him into action, you might say."

Jack nodded darkly.

"I begged him in a letter to see reason and not destroy their friendship, but he was determined."

"He sacrificed his relationship with Mr. O'Neill for his marriage?" Jack asked.

Mia drew air into her lungs before answering.

"I believe he convinced himself that he would be forgiven. That Luke's emotions weren't as strong as his own." She glanced at the Inspector's stony expression. "As I mentioned before, he was a very selfish man."

"And Mrs. Harper? She chose him."

"Gracey was growing to an age where her parents were getting restless. She was always surrounded by who she called 'her two men'. No other suitable bachelor would dare go near her."

"So, she didn't marry him for love then?" Jack asked. Mia shrugged.

"He was a charming young man, Inspector and she was deeply attached to him. So, if you ask me, she did. But what do I know about love or marriage, old maiden that I am?"

It was her thin smile that betrayed the lie. Watching the pattern of lines stretching across her features, Jack suspected that Mia Green knew more about love than most people did – or ever would.

"If Luke had spoken up first, who knows what her decision may have been? But it is as it is."

The cigarettes had long since burned down and Jack buried his hands in his pockets, freezing in the morning air despite the rising heat.

"She was threatening a divorce," he finally stated. "Do you believe the reason for that was Mr. O'Neill?"

He had to give Miss Green that she seemed honestly surprised.

"If that was the case, Inspector, then the reason was Aidan," she stated darkly. "You witnessed his behaviour yesterday."

"Hardly a reason to file for divorce."

She measured him with a brief glance from the side that caused him to look away. He certainly didn't need to discuss his own experience in the matter, yet felt he couldn't hide it.

"Grace had become rather andamant in her wish for children lately. But Aidan wouldn't comply."

Jack's head snapped around.

"He... took measures," Mia explained vaguely. The Inspector didn't even want to know how she had found out about that. Or what those 'measures' entailed exactly. Miss Green pulled out another cigarette. "He'd watched his father struggle for many years. He feared nothing like history repeating itself."

The flame licked at the end of the tobacco, while Jack stared at the woman in astonishment.

"Mr. Harper believed his wife would abandon him and their child? That's a hard cross to bear for a marriage."

Miss Green's expression darkened, as Jack resisted the temptation of indulging further in his nasty habit. It turned out to be quite a challenge today.

"You can imagine that Grace felt rather disheartened by his lack of trust. But he wouldn't budge from his position."

Jack contemplated this for some time while Mia Green smoked in silence. A bitter smile spread across her face.

"It's quite ironic really," she said, dropping the cigarette on the ground. "All his life Aidan's been haunted by his mother's disappearance. And now he died – right on her grave. Minutes from discovering the truth."

"Here you are hiding."

Phryne stepped out onto the terrace before the Inspector could find an answer. "I've been waiting for you to join me."

He cleared his tight throat.

"I was interviewing Miss Green on Mr. Harper's death," he explained calmly.

"And there I believed I was just pouring my heart out to a friendly Inspector," the old Lady quipped while Phryne let her eyes sweep over the garden where the two horses by now where happily grazing on something that had probably been a beloved flower until an hour ago.

"A fruitful conversation I trust?"

Miss Green smiled thinly.

"I would hope so. But as much as I enjoyed the company, Inspector, I think it's time I'd head back inside. My sister had quite a shock today and someone's got to feed our guests."

With that she turned to leave the spouses to themselves, when Phryne called after her.

"I've been wondering, Miss Green. Are those two related?"

The older woman seemed confused for a moment until she realised that the Lady-Detective was still looking at the horses.

"They are sisters; both bred by the O'Neills. Athena was given to Grace as a Christmas gift."

Neither of the spouses had to ask who the present had been from. But Harper's fury about Athena winning the race seemed suddenly a whole lot clearer.

"How did she take it?" Jack asked when they were finally alone. Phryne didn't tear her eyes from the garden.

"As expected. But she complied. Her train is leaving the station in two hours."

"Mr. Butler...?"

"...has been informed, Inspector. While you were charming the female witnesses around here, I've been arranging our daughter's return to Melbourne. Hazel might join her by the looks of it, she is still engaged a rather heatedly argument."

"In favour or against it?" Jack asked.

"She believes someone may have been watching them yesterday. Possibly the author of this letter."

The Inspector hummed under his breath.

"If that's the case, Mac is in just as much danger."

"Mac can hold her own," Phryne argued, "and she knows she is needed here. But she is worried for Hazel." She glanced at her husband and added pointedly: "Understandably."

Jack smiled.

"She obviously has never witnessed her beating up the bigger boys at school. My cousin ia not quite the picture of female fragility she looks."

Phryne finally turned, her back against the balustrade, aiming her eyes at him in amusement.

"Have you ever been at the receiving end of her hidden strengths then, Inspector?"

He tilted his head.

"Once or twice. And believe me, I looked worse than I do now, Miss Fisher."

He probably should have been embarrassed by this confession, but for some reason there seemed no need for it. With a tender smile Phryne touched his bruised cheek, her thumb caressing the sore flesh with the lightest of strokes and complete concentration.

"One could almost think you like them," Jack said, a tad breathlessly at the incredible intimacy of her touch.

She snapped out of her musing, her eyes darkening and he wished he had kept this thought to himself.

"I don't enjoy you getting hurt, Jack."

She tried to retrieve her hand, but he wrapped his finger's over hers, keeping them where they were.

"I didn't say you did."

For a long moment they fought a quiet battle, then she faltered.

"They may add a certain roguish charm."

"Is that so, Miss Fisher?"

Her heart stumbled in her chest at his rough whisper. He leaned in, adding quietly: "In that case I may have to get myself injured more often."

"Don't you dare," she hissed with a smile, surrendering to the urge to kiss him.

A throat was cleared behind them, causing a hurried retreat by the Inspector. He was rather conscious of the role he had taken over in the eyes of the townsfolk, poking around in their business and what they probably wouldn't consider appropriate behaviour. So he was somewhat relieved when he spotted John, smiling grimly.

"I see you have overcome the shock of this morning."

Jack chose to ignore his little stab.

"Any news from the crime scene?" he asked instead. John shook his head.

They've dug up every inch around the tree, but no sign of a second skeleton. What's left of Mrs. Harper is on it's way to the station as we speak."

"If it is indeed her," Phryne stated under her breath.

"If those remains are not the woman you are looking for, that'd be quite a coincidence. But then this town seems to be good for some surprises."

John turned his step back inside in the intention of finally getting some breakfast, but hesitated when something else came to mind. "I still can't stop pondering this date though."

He shook his head while he disappeared to annoy Miss Green some more.

"He has got a point," the Inspector sighed as they left the hotel behind to head back to the police station. "The date doesn't fit."

"Neither does the second name," Phryne added. "But I am more bothered by Mr. Harper's demise at the moment. How did he end up out there with a shovel?"

"Not only a shovel," Jack cut in, recounting his conversations with the widow. Phryne hummed in thought as the Hispano pulled out into the street.

"So Mr. Harper took both his motorcar and his pistol last night. But we found neither near the Rock."

"If the murderer has half a brain at his disposal, he has by now disposed of the weapon," Jack stated. "The car on the other hand would be a lot harder to hide. We should call a search for it. Not many people are in possession-"

"Jack?!"

Her abrupt braking ripped the Inspector from his thoughts. Then he saw what had startled her. In front of the butchery stood a motorcar. _Aidan Harper's _motorcar.

X

Despite the disappointing news, Dot felt rather uplifted by the idea of having Jane home soon. She didn't like the Fisher residence standing empty, save Mr. Butler of course, and she missed her friend's presence. And so she made her way over to her employer's house with a light heart as soon as Tommy had fallen asleep, sporting a feather duster and a whistled tune under her breath. Drawing the hated household helper over the lampshades in the hall in passing, she twirled to enter the parlour and froze. The back of a woman greeted her, bent over Miss Fisher's desk. She cleared her throat loudly and Nora turned, a letter opener clutched in her hands.

"Miss Aberville? What are you doing here?!"

There was no denying that the nurse looked flustered and Dot made a step towards her, thunderclouds in her eyes. Surely she could not just have witnessed her trying to steal from the Robinsons!?

"Nora?!" The slight threat in her voice tore the young woman from her frozen state.

"It's not... I was trying to write a letter and I ran out of ink," she stuttered. "I'm sorry, I should have asked."

Dorothy arrived in front of the woman and pointedly took the sharp object from her nurse's hands.

"You should have!" she said. "It is one matter if you go onto my things, but I won't accept you rummaging through the Robinson's house. Are we clear?!"

Nora Aberville seemed to shrink underneath her blazing eyes.

"Crystal."

There was the hint of a curtsy before she ducked out of the parlour and hurried down the hall. Sighing, Dot laid down the silvered letter opener with the beautiful pattern on the handle. It would have been a real shame to be lost. But that didn't solve her major problem. What to do with a nurse who seemed to be drawn to glittering things like a magpie? Would a stern talking to make any difference? Or was there no other way than to dismiss her? Dot argued silently with herself while dusting the parlour and straightening the pictures. Her mother would have told her that a servant who wasn't trustworthy had no business being in anyone's employment. But then her Christian virtue's pointed out that everybody deserved a second chance, while a tiny voice which sounded suspiciously like Miss Fisher insisted that she should get to the bottom of things before making any rash decisions. Maybe there was a sick relative or a starving family which needed caring for and had caused Miss Aberville to become light fingered. Of course, it could also be just the hankering for a new dress. She would find out the one or the other way, Dot decided, coughing when she moved some books which her duster had neglected lately.


	30. Chapter 29: Remember Me And Smile

**Chapter 29: Remember Me And Smile**

"I haven't seen Harper since the race," Packard barked. "Now if you'd have the friendliness of leaving my shop-"

"I don't think so," Phryne said, her voice able to cut glass. "His car is standing in the road right in front of your house. How do you explain that?"

The butcher halted in dividing a rack of lamb with precise slams of his cleaver to stare at her.

"I don't see no need to explain anything to you, Lady!"

Jack didn't like the look he gave her at all and decided it was time to push in.

"Mr. Packard, we can do that down at the station if you prefer, but you will have to talk to me, if you like it or not. Aidan Harper was murdered last night and he left his sheep station in the car standing outside."

"Listen, copper..."

The butcher looked up to find the Inspector standing right in front of him with an expression that caused his sentence to die on his throat. Angrily he returned to butchering his meat.

"I'm as upset about my nephew's death as the next man, but I didn't see him last night. And no amount of questions will change that. I don't know why he parked his bloody car outside."

Phryne frowned.

"Did you say nephew?"

This time the butcher actually laid down his cleaver and wiped his hands on his apron.

"You didn't know that? Right Detective you are, Lady."

"Would you care to explain?" Jack asked sharply without managing to wipe the self-satisfied grin from Packard's face.

"I'm a bastard offspring of the great Harper's," he finally grumbled. "So technically Aidan was my nephew. Not that it kept him from givin' me grief every other day."

"You didn't get along?" Jack asked, even though he knew the answer.

"Not exactly," Packard answered, hacking through a beef bone. "Arrogant plonker that he was. I wouldn't know why he'd come to me in the middle of night for a social call."

"You were seen fighting in the street the other day," Phryne said.

"So?"

"What was the argument entailing?" the Inspector prodded further.

"His stupid plans for that train line," Packard huffed. "He'd have ruined Woodend."

"That gives you a pretty clear motive then."

This time the stare the butcher gave Phryne woke in Jack the urge to grasp his wife and drag her out of the butcher shop before a cleaver was buried in her forehead, but she just held the look with an amused smile on her red lips.

"I had nothin' to do with Harper's death and I haven't seen him since the race, Lady. I won't say it again!"

"Thank you, Mr. Packard, that will be all for the moment," the Inspector stated quickly. Phryne only reluctantly took his hint and followed him out into the hot street. Curious and slightly hostile eyes swept over them from the other side of the road, where a group of men were passing.

"You aren't actually going to take his word for it?" Phryne protested when the door had closed behind them.

"If you are asking me if I am convinced that he isn't involved, Miss Fisher, I am not," Jack explained while putting his hat back on.

"He is awfully defensive for one," the Lady-Detective huffed.

"But I do wonder if he'd be stupid enough to leave a blatant prove of his murder right in front of his shop window?"

A look from Phryne told Jack that she considered the butcher not the brightest spark but she approached the black motorcar all the same.

"Anyone could have left it here, including the murderer," she stated.

"The question is really how Harper arrived at Hanging Rock if his car was here?"

"Unless the killer took it back to town after finishing his business."

They were both aware that the amount of tracks left by the visitors on racing day would make it all but impossible to determine if Harper had driven there or not. So, it was all speculation at this stage.

"And then he left it in plain sight on the main road?"

"That might turn out to be a stroke of genius," Phryne pondered aloud. "It is impossible to pin this on anyone unless we find a witness."

"Which seems not very likely..." Jack sighed, turning on his heels and looking at the shop fronts lining the dirtroad that formed the heart of this part of town. With the living space in the one-story houses being mostly out towards the back, finding someone who had seen anything last night might turn out to be quite a challenge. The people of Woodend were hard workers, as the tough life out here demanded, and needed a decent night's sleep. But then again, it had been Racing Day.

"Maybe a visitor?" Phryne asked, staring at the balcony stretching around the upper storey of the Queen Victoria Hotel. "Or someone suffering insomnia. I fear we have a lot of legwork to do."

"You know, I might have found a job for Father," Jack grinned. Just then a man came racing down the road towards them.

X

"Such a silly thing to do, run all the way down here in this heat," Rosemary scolded her husband while pouring more water into his glass. Even here in the gloomy rooms of the hotel, Robert Wilson's face was still glowing bright red, if just from the sun or from embarrassment about his wife's lecture in front of the Detectives remained subject to speculation.

"I've only just heard, or I would have been down here earlier," he panted after waving off the third glass of water. "I can't believe he's dead."

"You mentioned that you ran into Mr. Harper last night?" Phryne asked when he didn't seem compelled to continue. Wilson's face darkened in memory.

"I would rather say he ran into me. Well, almost. I was on my way back home when I spotted his motorcar, coming towards me at full speed. I just barely managed to escape being run over."

"Are you certain it was Harper behind the wheel?"

"Absolutely! He stopped, trying to blame his incapability to drive on me, despite being three sheets to the wind."

Robert shook his head.

"What happened then, Mr. Wilson?" Jack nudged gently.

"It wasn't save, letting him drive. I was worried he might kill himself."

He looked up briefly, recognising the irony of this statement.

"I wanted to bring him home but he insisted to go into Woodend instead. He was persistent to see his uncle, if you ask me, he was absolutely livid."

"His uncle? You mean Mr. Packard?" Phryne asked, her attention peaking.

"Yes. So I've parked the car outside the butchery and walked down towards here. It was quite late already and I thought Rosemary might be worried."

His wife nodded from where she was standing behind her, a reaffirming hand on his shoulder.

"It was almost 10 o'clock at the time."

"Did you see Harper enter the house?"

For the first time the man seemed a little thrown by a question.

"I am not quite certain. He did leave the car, I recall him being so drunk that he was stumbling. And I heard him yell for 'Packard' and bang on the door. But if it was opened, I do not know."

He looked from one to the other.

"I shouldn't have left him alone there. Nathan Packard is known for his temper."

"You believe he had reason to shoot his nephew?" the Inspector asked, finally taking a seat himself.

Wilson shared a look with his wife.

"I wouldn't know about that but they were always arguing. One week it was the price of a carcass, the next they fought about politics or horses."

"Or certain plans for a railway line?" Phryne cut in. Wilson closed his mouth, cleared his throat.

"Well, they are both members of the council and disagreed on the plans. But I don't think that had anything to do with it really. They just hated each other out of principle. If you ask my personal opinion, Packard's envy played a great role. He thought he should have inherited the station rather than Darrell Harper, being the older brother."

"But an extramarital son?" Phryne asked, for the first time finding a confusing feeling of sympathy in her chest. Wilson nodded.

"When Packard's mother realised she was expecting, Aidan's grandfather couldn't get back into his wife's bed fast enough. Or so rumour says," Rosemary explained. "Poor man."

"He might not be poor much longer," her husband mumbled.

"What was that?" Jack asked, trying to remember why he really disliked the butcher.

"Well, he will get his hands on the station now after all, won't he?" Robert asked. "Now that Aidan's dead without an heir."

"What about Mrs. Harper?" Phryne asked.

"She will get her dower of course..." Rosemary stated slowly, feeling the temperature in the room cooling rapidly. "But since they failed to have a son, the rest of the estate will be battled out between Aidan's uncles."

"Even though I can't see Pete O'Neill being very interested. He's got enough on his hands with his own farm. Especially now that his son is thinking 'bout leaving..."

Phryne felt her head spinning. Too much information in too little time. She sank into one of the upholstered chairs that looked more comfortable than they were and poured herself a glass of water which she downed in one big gulp. When she looked up she found herself watched intently by everybody else. Jack appeared a little worried.

"How do you know that Luke O'Neill is considering to leave the farm?"

Rosemary took a deep breath.

"I got chatting with his mother in church the other day and she told me that he has been talking about heading down to the city. Something about making 'a new start'. She isn't thrilled by the prospect, of course."

"Of course," Jack echoed weakly. He started to feel rather annoyed. No matter who he talked to today there seemed to be more information pouring out at him that nobody had cared to mention earlier. Of course, 'earlier; it hadn't been a proper murder investigation.  
"Would you please excuse me for a moment?" he asked, rising. A pair of blue eyes followed his retreating back before Phryne returned her attention to the couple.

"We seem to have offended your husband?" Robert asked, creases stretching across his forehead.

"He hasn't had a good day," Phryne quipped. "Stumbling over a corpse at sunrise will have that effect."

With a glance at the clock she added: "I also believe it is time to accompany Jane to the station. Thank you for your help, Mr. Wilson. Mrs. Wilson."

She left with the distinct feeling that they had made three steps backwards in this conversation.

X

"What have you done?!"

The farmhand froze in the middle of washing a cat bowl and turned towards a pale, yet furious, Laura O'Neill.

Then he returned to his work without answering.

"I've asked you a question, Jalboo!"

"Why do you bother if you know the answer already?" he asked calmly, continuing to scrub at the metal.

"You had no right! Do you _want_ to destroy my family?"

He dropped the bowl with a splash into the water and spun around.

"I aim to protect this family. I tried to _protect_ him!"

The slap seemed to echo over across the yard. Laura covered her mouth in shock at her own loss of temper while watching the shadow of her fingers fade from the farmhand's face. He stood, stoically looking at her, but his eyes were slowly filling with tears as they stared at each other. In all his years working for the O'Neills nobody had ever aimed a bad word at him, let alone raised a hand. There had to be a first time for everything.

"I guess I deserved that," he said quietly. "For failing, not for trying."

She just shook her head, too close to crying herself to utter the apology that he could read written all over her face.

"I'm so scared," she finally choked out. Despite himself, Jalboo touched his employer's shoulder.

"He will be all right," he said, his eyes willing her to believe him. She didn't ask who he meant. She just hoped he was right either way.

X

"Give our love to Dot and Mr. B and Hugh of course," Phryne gushed, hugging her daughter to herself with more enthusiasm than she felt. She didn't know why there were tears pricking at the back of her eyes. It felt like a goodbye, even though she hoped they'd follow suit. Iris smiled at the display from where she was holding onto Rupert. Something about their body language told the Detectives that she had shared her secret.

"The cab should be waiting at the train station for you," the Inspector said. "Try and stay out of trouble, even if it's hard."

His daughter grinned and threw her arms around him.

"You'd better come home soon and make sure that I do," she demanded. Jack didn't answer, just held onto her for a long moment. His dream echoed in his mind. He hadn't told anyone about it and he was surely not going to start now.

"We'll only be a few days behind," he promised.

"Only three murders. It will take no time at all," Phryne quipped.

"Your parent's could solve those with both your hands tied behind their backs," John added behind the Inspector, clapping him on the shoulder. He couldn't see his son's face or he might have noticed the shadow his joke sent across his features. But he did realise Phryne's glare and chose to ignore it along with Jane's confusion.

"You take care of yourself, young Lady!"

"I will," Jane said, spotting the incoming train. "Now if only they could decide what they want to do, we could leave."

Her chin pointed at Mac and Hazel, who were enthralled in a heated discussion at the end of the platform. John sighed.

"They might have to take the next train."

But by the time the doors opened the lovers had joined the group.

"I absolutely refuse to travel home without Mac," Hazel stated calmly, sensing the curiosity hanging in the air.

"She called me a worryguts," the Doctor complained, still miffed. Phryne couldn't help a smirk and took her friend's arm.

"Sorry, Love, you will have to go home on your own," Hazel added, kissing Jane on the cheek.

"I think I can handle it," the girl grinned, climbing into the train while Jack lifted in her suitcase. Little later her head popped through an open window.

"I shall see you soon," she called for goodbyes as the train started to move. They watched until her head was too far away to make out. Neither of them spoke on the way back to the hotel.


	31. Chapter 30: Broken Wings

**Good evening, Ladies. I realised tonight as I was attempting an update, that I lack the capability of picking the right chapter at 4 am with the help of a muddled brain. It was rather a surprise. Joke aside, I've accidentally skipped Chapter 29 in posting (an issue that is now fixed). Sorry about the chaos. I probably should, along with Jack, consider my habit of consuming Whisky and Miss Fisher in the middle of the night. **

**Chapter 30: Broken Wings**

It was afternoon by the time Luke stumbled outside in some disheveled clothing, blinded by bright daylight and disorientated from the remains of the drugs. He found his father sitting on a bench, brushing his boots with a grim expression.

"You look like hell," Pete said instead of a greeting.

"No doubt."

Luke walked past him, heading into the stable and returning minutes later, pulling Mary behind him.

"Heading over to the Harper's station, are ya?" the older man asked.

"Why would I do that?"

"Your friend lost her husband. That seems enough reason for a visit."

"I'm sure there are plenty of people visiting her right now," Luke grumbled, swinging himself into the saddle.

"She is a widow now, Son," Pete added, trying to keep his voice level.

"Shut your mouth!"

The old man looked up in shock.

"I am sick of you people! Picking at their estates, their houses, their wives the moment they drop dead. Like vultures! Aidan is barely cold yet!"

Luke dug his heels into the filly's sides and horse and rider flew from the farm before Pete had found his voice again. Then the farmer threw a boot across the courtyard, sending a chicken into panicked flight before burying his face in both palms. The protesting chicken stared at him in confusion then wandered off. Humans were an odd species.

X

Meanwhile Mrs. Harper indeed had a pair of visitors. The Detectives had found a place in the sitting room which didn't seem to get a lot of wear. But right now there still hung the smell of stale Whisky in the air.

"I apologize for the mess," Grace explained, sitting down. "Last night I was too angry. I would have been more likely to fling the glasses against the wall than wash them."

"Who was drinking with your husband?" Phryne asked.

The woman shrugged.

"I have not the slightest idea. I was out in the fields all afternoon with Athena and when I came home, Aidan was drunk out of his mind. We had a heated argument in the stables and I left again little later with Orpheus. The horse needed to get out and to be honest, so did I."

Jack straightened his back.

"How long did you ride out for last night?"

Grace Harper seemed surprisingly embarrassed by this question.

"Two hours possibly. I required some time to 'steam off' and ended up at the O'Neill's farm," she finally admitted.

"To seek Mr. O'Neill's company?"

The widow appeared to miss the implication.

"To hear from him that he didn't kill Evening Wind."

Phryne tilted her head at this, not mentioning with a word that Grace had lied about her suspicion.

"I assume he convinced you?"

"He did." She laughed bitterly. "And then we got involved in a squabble as well.."

"Regarding what?"

"Regarding my marriage falling to pieces," she said matter-of-factly. "I asked Luke to help me."

Jack found himself holding his breath. Until a moment ago he had truthfully not even considered that Luke O'Neill may have shot his cousin. Too raw, too real was his grief. But taking into account the depths of feeling he harbored for this woman, it suddenly seemed a horrible possibility. The Inspector was silently glad that Phryne had taken over his interview.

"Help you how?" she enquired calmly.

"Believe it or not, I asked him to convince me to stay married to my husband. And he complied," Grace smiled grimly. "But he was furious with me."

"So you left?"

"I went to Doyle's house."

"To what purpose exactly?"

Grace drew a deep breath into her lungs.

"There had been another possibility playing on my mind that I didn't really want to entertain much more than Luke being a murderer," she explained. "I guess there is little point in protecting Aidan any longer."

She stared unseeingly at the old grandfather clock ticking lifetime away in a stubborn rhythm. "When we buried Evening Wind I've noticed that there was something wrong with his left front leg. His fetlock was showing an odd angle. He must have hurt himself in training."

"Horses don't recover from this kind of injury easily," Jack said with a strong suspicion where this was going.

"A racehorse doesn't recover from such an injury at all, Inspector..." She paused, swallowed. "From then, everything began to fall into place. Aidan chasing him over the racetrack to exhaustion; distracting me from going into the stable that morning, Doyle's sudden visit..."

"The morphine," Jack added. There was silence for a long moment while the Detectives came to terms with this.

"So the murder was staged," Phryne concluded, her anger growing. Grace looked embarrassed and upset in equal amounts.

"I don't know who came up with this scheme," she finally continued. "But Doyle's a good veterinarian. I don't believe he couldn't have saved Evening Wind. Nobody could have."

"So, they decided to use the chance to frame Mr. O'Neill?"

"They must have somehow gotten a hold of Luke's hat.. Aidan knew I'd recognize the clasp."

"A fact you decided to lie about," Jack threw in dryly, earning himself a stern look by his wife.

"Doyle had been at the O'Neill's farm that day," Phryne remembered when nobody else seemed willing to continue the thought.

"And I bought into it," the widow said, her eyes glassy. "I shudder at what I threw into Luke's face. What must he think of me?"

Neither of the Detectives felt any desire of delving into that subject.

"It all seems like a lot of trouble to go to, just to pin a horse murder on someone," Phrye pointed out.

"There is also an insurance," the Inspector recalled. "Do I go right in the assumption that your husband would have received a lot less payout for an injury than death by the hands of a third party?"

Grace nodded.

"Fraud then," Phryne stated. "And a chance of getting Mr. O'Neill banned from the race."

The spouses shared a look and decided not to mention the third benefit Aidan Harper might have had in mind when presenting the world with the evidence of Luke's betrayal.

"I've been terribly naïve," Grace Harper admitted, clearing her throat. "And I apologize for wasting your holiday."

Jack glanced at the Lady-Detective with a tiny grin.

"I wouldn't worry about that, Mrs. Harper. My wife enjoys a spell of sleuthing to pass the time." Phryne scowled at him in fake annoyance.

"Of course now, sadly, your husband's death is a much more dire matter," he added, folding his hands in his lap. The hint of lightness in the mood dissolved.

"I still have no idea why he would venture out to Hanging Rock. Drunk and angry as he was. How he came to suspect that his mother was buried there?.. I just can't make any sense of it!"

Phryne's eyes dropped back to the two glasses on the table.

"Maybe his visitor is the key to that question."

Grace's eyes widened in shock.

"You think... he was drinking with his killer?"

"It's a possibility," the Inspector explained calmly. "But he was alone when he made his way towards Woodend. We have a witness for that."

Mrs. Harper straightened her back.

"No offence, Inspector, but I've been living here all my life; many of the townsfolk are my friends. Could we please talk clearly?"

Phryne grinned, repeating what Mr. Wilson had told them.

"He was headed for Packard's house?" the widow asked, visibly astonished.

"So it seems," Phryne sighed. "Even though if he was indeed received we don't know."

"His uncle denies to have seen him at all last night," the Inspector added.

Grace's frown deepened.

"I'm certain he does," she said darkly. "But I wouldn't trust him as far as I can spit."

"The question remains, why he would have approached him. He wasn't a confidante, I assume?"

A bitter laugh answered Phryne's question.

"Hardly, Mrs. Robinson. No, it makes no sense... unless Aidan suspected he knew something about his mother's disappearance."

"If we entertain that thought," Jack spoke carefully, "that would mean that Mr. Packard was aware of Evie Harper's being buried at Hanging Rock."

Phryne rose.

"I believe it is time we paid another visit to the butchery."

Jack took his hat and followed her to the door after thanking the widow. Phryne waited impatiently for him to finish his civilities, when something occurred to her.

"Actually, Mrs. Harper, I am tempted to take those," she said. "They might hold evidence."

The widow watched on in silence as the Detective carefully picked up the tumblers from the table and left, balancing them like two raw examples in an egg race.

X

"You took the wrong turn," Phryne pointed out kindly. Jack smiled. Miss Fisher wasn't particularly comfortable with someone else behind the wheel. But she was still rather immobilised by the two tumblers she was holding between gloved fingers.

"I am heading to the Station," he explained. "I assume you weren't intending on dusting those in the butchery? And also Ferguson has voiced a friendly invitation towards Packard already."

"And why do you know about said invitation while I don't?" Phryne huffed, trying her hardest not to smudge any fingerprints.

"Because I asked him for it. If Nathan Packard inherits Harper's sheep station, he has what I'd call a strong motive."

"Beside his likely involvement in Evie Harper's demise?" Phryne asked.

"Indeed, Miss Fisher."

For a long moment Phryne stayed silent, the hot afternoon wind caressing her cheeks.

"We also need to consider Luke O'Neill as a suspect," she finally said. Jack nodded grimly. He didn't like the idea but then justice wasn't about his personal preferences. There was something desperate about the young farmer, a deep pain that the Inspector couldn't quite grasp but that nevertheless he couldn't ignore. Desperate people killed.

"Would you kill for love?" Phryne asked out of the sudden. The question hit him squarely in the chest, squeezing the breath from his lungs. He tried but couldn't come up with anything to say.

They arrived at the station little later. Jack parked the car in silence. By the time he turned the motor off, she was still waiting for an answer.

"If someone threatened your life I would shoot them without hesitance," he finally said without looking at her.

"That's not what I was asking."

"I know."

He climbed onto the pavement and she realised that he wasn't going to give her any more. It was beyond odd. Her question had been merely a mind game on the idea that O'Neill may have ended the strange threesome with a murder - not a deep enquiry into Jack's moral code. But now she was intrigued.

Not that the Inspector was granting her any time to dig further into the matter. He opened her door but had disappeared before she had a chance to address him again. She rushed after her husband and caught him just before stepping into the small police station. Surprising coolness greeted them. Sergeant Geoffrey Ferguson was nowhere to be seen. Phryne gently sat the two glasses on his desk, while Jack rummaged around and finally discovered what he had been looking for. With a bottle and brush in hand he approached while Miss Fisher had crouched down and was now inspecting both tumblers against the light falling through the window.

"Anything of interest, Miss Fisher?"

"Actually yes, Inspector. This one is very straight forward. One set, whoever was Harper's guest only changed his grip on the glass once."

"A short visit then."

"The other one in contrast is covered in fingerprints."

"That seems not surprising if Mr. Harper consumed a lot of alcohol over some time," Jack pointed out, beginning to dust the glasses with Lycopodium powder. The pictures of the fine ridges became clearer. Phryne coughed, when he blew away the excess.

"Two people touched this glass," she stated breathlessly after a long moment's inspection. Jack took the magnifying glass from her hand and had a look for himself. "And they differ from the guest."

"So we have two mystery men then," he said.

"Or women."

"You think Mrs. Harper lied about not having seen her husband drink?"

Phryne shrugged.

"She didn't say that exactly. Only that she hadn't seen anyone else. She might also have contemplated cleaning up and sat the glass back down."

"That should be easy enough to confirm either way," Jack said. "But the other set could give us a little challenge. After all we can hardly fingerprint the whole town."

"Maybe we should find out where Harper started drinking," Phryne proposed. Jack tilted his head with a tiny grin, enjoying her enthusiasm. It was refreshing after days of worry and angst.

"You must have noticed that there was barely a third missing in the bottle on Harper's table. No man can get himself that drunk and offer his guest a drink on that little whisky alone."

She grinned at Jack cheekily and he pointedly took the magnifying glass from her hand, returning his attention to the tumblers.

"He left the race with Ferguson," Phryne conversationally stated, swinging herself onto the Sergeant's desk.

"I am looking forward to having a conversation with that man," Jack grumbled, deeply enthralled in the fragile lines he was inspecting. "And to have a look at his thumb."

Phryne jumped down in excitement, sensing that Jack had found something. Her fingers wrapped around the gilded handle of the offered magnifying glass and moments later she knew what he'd meant. Both impressions the thumb had left showed a thick empty line running straight across.

X

He'd known where he would end up, but it was a shock all the same when the tree appeared against the bright sky. The pastures, the quiet, dry landscape that was home to sheep and kangaroos had been raped by a dozen men and their shovels, leaving only bruised earth and devastation. Luke O'Neill dismounted, walking the last 50 feet with trembling legs. His head was spinning with questions, but his eyes were fixated on his goal. The tree. It seemed to stare at him angrily as if it accused him of being responsible for the disturbance in its peace.

Luke attempted to shake off the thoughts and pictures. He had seen something this morning, in his dazed state kneeling in the dirt. Something disturbing. But as hard as he tried - he couldn't remember what it was. His hand gently touched the bark, as if attempting to talk to the old tree. Apologize. Ask.

He heard a horse approach. He didn't have to turn to know who it was and so he didn't. Neither did he react when she called his name, only when her hand touched his shoulder. Slowly he turned, took in her tear streaked face, her tousled hair, waited for the pain to settle in. When it did, it took his breath away. He felt her catching him, holding him. He wasn't sure if she was crying or he was or they both were. Smothered in her locks it occurred to him that he hadn't hugged her in many years. She felt different, bonier. But she still smelled the same.

"I'm sorry," he ground out. "I'm so sorry, Grace."

She didn't answer, just held him tighter. Luke allowed her. Allowed himself. He wanted to remember the way her body felt against his, the tickle of her hair, the softness of her arms, the ribs underneath her blouse.

Finally he squared his shoulders He was being ridiculous. Grace felt his retreat and resurfaced from where her tears had left a wet spot on his shirt. She wiped her eyes with her fist, like she had done when she was five.

"I swore myself I'd keep it together," she explained. Luke smiled, but any sincerity was missing.

"Aidan would think we'd gone mad," he stated, retrieving his distance.

"Aidan was an idiot," she grinned, wrapping Athena's lead around her hand. "I don't think he ever realised how much he was loved, despite him being such an unbearable imbecile most of the time."

Luke nodded, his jaw set while she continued.

"Sometimes I was so angry at his mother. If she hadn't abandoned him..." She stopped, staring past Luke's shoulder at the name engraved in the centre of the tree trunk. "How wrong I was all those years."

"What do you mean?"

She started.

"They didn't tell you?"

"I was asleep," he said weakly.

"I know."

Luke frowned at her knowing grin.

"Your mother confessed when I brought home Mary," she explained. "Didn't think she had it in herself."

"Mother surprises me at times," he said stiffly. Grace obviously thought it was a good joke. He wasn't so certain. "You intended on telling me what I've missed."

She gulped, looked back at the tree.

"They've found Evie."

Luke felt he had to sit down before his knees buckled.


	32. Chapter 31: Welcome And Farewell

**Chapter 31: Welcome And Farewell**

"Is it the mystery woman?" Hazel asked from where she was sitting on a box, dangling her legs in the air.

"Is it definitely _a_ woman!" Mac mumbled, continuing her inspection of the skeleton. "And she didn't die of old age."

Hazel jumped to her feet, spying over lover's shoulder. Usually Elizabeth would have been enjoying her proximity, but she was still too angry to fall into that trap. Nevertheless she pointed out the injuries the bones showed.

"The skull is cracked, at least two ribs broken and I am quite certain femurs don't come with that angle naturally."

"Someone was making very certain she's dead," Hazel pointed out, her breath brushing Mac's neck, causing the fine hairs to stand up. She sucked some air into her lungs. She really didn't need this right now.

"Technically only the trauma to the skull might be fatal. But then, there is no way of saying what damage her internal organs took."

Hazel hummed in thought, her hand resting absent-mindedly against Mac's hip. With an annoyed hiss the Doctor spun out of the embrace and walked over to where Aidan Harper's body was covered by a sheet. Despite the coolness here in the basement a slight odour of rotting flesh was beginning to hang in the air.

"Do you believe she was run over?" Hazel asked, still staring at the remains of Evie Harper.

Mac shrugged, uncovering Aidan's hand and began pressing his fingers into an ink-pad.

"Hard to say. She may have been beaten up. Or have taken a fall."

"What are you doing?" her lover asked, again joining her.

"I am taking the fingerprints Phryne asked me for."

"To what purpose?"

"I am not in the habit of questioning what she needs."

When the Doctor spun to grasp a piece of paper, an elbow hit Hazel gently but with enough force to make her realise that Mac was very much annoyed. Her lover retreated.

"Are you still sulking?" she asked after a few minutes of busy silence.

"I've voiced my wishes and you chose to ignore them, that is your business."

Her lover crossed her arms over her chest in defence.

"You can't seriously expect me to retreat to Melbourne like a coward while you stay here in the midst of nowhere with those madmen."

"Under the protection of at least four people who know how to use a pistol," Mac grumbled. "I'm not certain about Iris."

"She's better with a shotgun," Hazel quipped. Her joke didn't receive an answer.

"Mac?"

"I don't want you to be here, but you refuse to leave. Unless you have changed your mind there is no point in continuing this discussion. Now I have a job to do, if you don't mind."

Hazel stood for a moment longer, steaming in anger, then turned towards the staircase leading up into the station.

"Tell me, is there any good reason for your behaviour?"

Silence was the only answer.

"That's what I thought," Hazel smiled grimly, slamming the door shut behind herself. Mac dropped the ink pad with which she had just attempted to take the print of Aidan Harper's right thumb and swore under her breath.

She made a second attempt at it before throwing everything down and storming up the stairs. She caught up to Hazel just when she reached the main door and grasped her arm.

"Wait!"

The other woman stopped. Only then did they realise that they were being watched. Geoffrey Ferguson cleared his throat uncomfortably, while the man he was interviewing glittered at them angrily.

"I believe this is not the place," Jack stated carefully, watching Nathan Packard out of the corners of his eyes.

"Excuse us, we have things to discuss," Mac ground out, grabbing Hazel and dragging her out the door.

"Disgusting," Packard stated under his breath.

"Pardon me?"

"Nothin'."

Jack stared at the butcher a long moment before deciding to not go further into the subject.

"Your cousin is a lovely young lady," the Butcher said with a smile that sent chills down the Inspector's spine.

"My cousin is not the reason I asked you to come here," Jack said loudly, clutching onto all the calmness he could muster. Two small, dark eyes measured him with contempt.

"I guess you are still tryin' to pin Harper's murder on me," Packard said, shifting in his seat. Jack regretted his decision to send Phryne away in the hope of getting something more out of the man. He could have done with her calming presence. The young Sergeant, meanwhile, stayed annoyingly quiet, following the conversation with keen eyes.

"I am not interested in pinning this murder on anyone. But I promise you, Packard, if you killed him I will get you and you will rot in gaol."

A broad grin spread over the course features.

"Well, copper, in that case we are done talkin'. I didn't kill noone."

He rose.

"Sit down!"

Sergeant Ferguson actually jumped at the tone of the Inspector's voice. Packard slowly dropped back into his seat.

"Ask what ya gotta ask then."

"When did you last see Aidan Harper?"

"I told you already-"

"Tell me again."

Packard rolled his eyes.

"At the race, where he was made a fool of by his wife. I left right after. Wouldn't be stood up by a woman!"

"You returned home?"

"Where else?"

Jack leaned back, letting a small smile creep onto his lips.

"Mr. Packard, what do you know about Evie Harper?"

There was a flicker of uncertainty in the Butcher's face.

"What's there to know?"

"For example that she was murdered."

Packard looked at Ferguson as if searching for help while his mouth opened and closed several times.

"You must've heard of it, Nathan," Ferguson stated carefully.

"You are not blaming this on me!" Packard suddenly yelled, sending his chair crashing down. "The bitch left my brother without a word. That's the truth! No stupid bones will convince me otherwise."

"Sit down," Jack repeated gently. "Mrs. Evie Harper was buried at the foot of Hanging Rock. And her son found out, which seems to be the motive for his murder. So again, Mr. Packard, what did you know?"

For a moment it seemed like Packard was going to assault the Inspector, then he picked up his chair and sat down.

"Was a pretty cold winter when she'd disappeared. She didn't take much more than the clothes on her back, no thick coat, must've been freezin'..." He stopped for a moment, another grin sneaking onto his features. "Course you don't freeze in hell, do ya?"

X

Jane saw them from afar. The two men standing in front of their cab, their hands crossed in the front, trying to look as zealous as possible. The effect was slightly spoiled by Bert's grumpy expression. When the girl flew towards them, even he couldn't manage to suppress a grin.

Jane greeted them with a flood of words, allowing Cec to take her suitcase from her and Bert to help her into the cab.

"Can we make a little de-tour?" the girl asked as soon as the cab started moving.

"We are under strict order to take you straight home," Bert grumbled. "Mrs. Robinson was very adamant about that."

"I just want to tell Harry that I am back," Jane protested.

The two Cabbies exchanged a look.

"Sorry, Miss Jane, but she is scary when she insists."

Jane couldn't help but smile at Cec's confession. Her mother could be somewhat intimidating.

"Also, Dot is waiting for you," Bert added.

The girl surrendered into being chauffeured home. She guessed she could wait until she'd arrived to telephone both Harry and Melody. But that was just a backdrop to another thought: why on earth Phryne wouldn't want her to stray from her way home? Surely she didn't think she would go get herself into trouble as soon as her feet hit the ground in Melbourne? Something odd was going on with her parents. She had overheard some things, picked up some body language, but it didn't make any more sense. If she hadn't known Phryne as well as she did, she'd said her mother was really scared. The strange thought still played on her mind when the door opened and Dot wrapped her in a warm embrace smelling of cinnamon.

"It's so good to have you home," her friend explained breathlessly, taking her suitcase. "But you need to tell me what happened. Mrs. Phryne was very secretive on the telephone."

Jane recounted the events while they walked upstairs to unpack her belongings.

"That's horrible," Dot exclaimed, when she reached Harper's death.

"And then there was no discussion anymore, they sent me home," Jane concluded, somewhat miffed.  
"They were probably just worried about you getting hurt," her friend explained gently. Jane didn't answer for she still couldn't help the feeling that she was being treated unfairly.

"How is Miss Aberville settling in then?" she asked in an attempt to change the subject.

Dot sat down, thunderclouds darkening her features.

"Not quite as good as hoped. In fact I think she may be trouble."

Jane forgot everything about murder and mayhem in Woodend. This sounded a much more promising case.

X

They sat in the dirt, shoulder to shoulder, arms wrapped around knees. The early evening wind played in Grace's hair, tore on Luke's hat, her laughter sounding in his ears, when she recounted once again Aidan hiding a handful of beetles in their teacher's bag.

"Miss Arnolds almost resigned that morning," she smiled. "She couldn't stop talking about that 'horrible, horrible child'."

Luke smiled at the badly imitated accent of their strict teacher. The old lady had long since passed on.

His friend took in a deep breath, obviously remembering something else, but he cut in before she could tell another story.

"I am leaving, Grace."

The words shook her out of bitter-sweet memories. Silence settled into in which a fly was buzzing angrily.

"Why?" she finally asked.

He attempted to shrug the feared question away, shuffled with his feet in the loose dirt.

"I just.. need to see something else. I am tired of sheep and Father's moods and Aidan..."

He swallowed, realising that the speech he had so often repeated in his head, didn't apply any more. He expected protest, but instead she just nodded, staring at her toes.

"I guess you're right."

He couldn't help feeling a wave of crushing disappointment and pulled himself to his feet before it could show.

"I'll wait until after the funeral, of course."

"Of course."

She watched him as he patted red dust from his pants.

"Luke?"

He looked up and if she hadn't known better she'd thought there was a glimmer of something in his brown eyes. But it was gone before she could question it. She really wanted to tell him. Share how scared she was about her farm being ripped away from underneath her feet, of being at Packard's mercy, of a life without Aidan. And of a life without _him_. But she didn't, because it was pathetic and because he deserved to see something else than sheep and Pete O'Neill's frown every morning.

"What are you going to do?" she asked. He smiled thinly.

"I have no idea."

The thought was strangely liberating and she took pleasure in the emotion lighting up his eyes. Grace rose, approaching the two horses waiting patiently for their owners.

"We'll miss you," she said, rubbing Mary's nose. "The three of us."

Luke couldn't help his heart skipping a beat.

"I'll write," he promised.

"I don't think they can read," she quipped, being nudged by Athena, who was growing bored standing around and listening to humans being silly. Luke rolled his eyes at her, when they were caught by something else. His blood ran cold.

"What is it?" she asked, witnessing the sudden change.

He dropped Mary's lead and walked straight past her to the tree. There was no answer.

"Luke?! What is it?"

Her friend turned suddenly, his face ashen and stony. Grace felt her heart race with fear at his expression.

"I have to go."

He mounted Mary and was gone before she had a chance to find her composure.

X

Phryne rejoined the Inspector somewhat miffed. Her conversation with Bill Ferguson had been completely fruit- and pointless. He had admitted to drinking with Harper to 'calm his nerves' but claimed that he had left the pub without any idea how the evening had taken such a tragic turn for the farmer. The amount of times he had used the word 'tragic' during one conversation let bile rise in the Lady-Detective's throat in recollection. Jack didn't look any happier.

"I take it, the interview with Mr. Packard didn't go well?" she asked, spying over his shoulder at a report.

"That man is disgusting me," Jack explained, shuddering. "He was obviously not a great friend of Evie Harper's but of course he denies having had anything to do with her death."

"Naturally."

"Here is the book, Inspector," the Sergeant said, returning from a back room. "There aren't many entries I'm afraid. It's quiet out here."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing," Phryne smiled, taking the album from his hands. She carefully flicked through it. It held some mug shots, pictures, details of arrests. It was indeed a slim read. But it also held fingerprints and she guessed that to be the reason the Inspector had requested it. One face enthralled her instantly.

"Is that O'Neill's farmhand?" she asked, flicking back a page. "Mr. Smith," she read aloud.

"For the purpose of the law," Ferguson explained. "I believe he prefers to just go by Jalboo."

"What crime has he committed?" the Inspector asked, wrestling the book from his wife's hand.

"None, as far as I am aware," Geoff grumbled, settling behind his desk. "Old Widow Johnson thought someone broke into her house. Made a great bloody deal of it and of course, he lives in the neighbourhood and she's a bit scared of him, so he was to blame. I jumped through the hoops of arresting him. Turned out it was her useless son. Came home drunk and couldn't find the door and then was too much of a coward to admit to it."

Phryne stared at the young police officer for a long moment, trying to read him. Maybe he was a brighter spark than he was given credit for. Jack had picked up her magnifying glass, attempting to ignore the incredible feminine nature of the design and inspected the fingerprints. Ferguson, meanwhile, bustled away to fill some more paperwork.

"Any luck?" Phryne asked after a few minutes of silence. Jack slowly let the glass sink.

"I'd like you to have a look."

"Have you lost your touch, Inspector?"

"I really don't want to be wrong about this," he stated breathlessly.

She humoured him, but there was no denying it. Jalboo's fingerprints matched the second set on Harper's glass.


	33. Chapter 32: On Knife's Edge

**Chapter 32: On Knife's Edge**

They found Jalboo in the horse stable, rubbing down a brown mare who looked suspiciously like the two horses they knew had been bred on this farm. All things considered it was likely their mother.

"Good afternoon," the farmhand greeted without stopping in his task – or turning for that matter.

"You were in Harper's house the evening he died," the Inspector stated.

"I was."

"Why?"

Jalboo took a deep breath.

"I was attempting to continue a conversation. He wasn't as interested in it as he was in his whisky."

"You argued?" Phryne asked.

"We did. He asked me to leave."

"What was the argument about, Mr. Smith?" Jack asked sharply. Jalboo flinched, then turned, a strangled smile on his features.

"I was hoping to protect him. He wouldn't be convinced."

"Protect him from what?"

"His own stupidity, mostly."

Phryne stood in the background, watching the stand-off between the two men in silence. It was strange, despite knowing that her own brain had concocted the man in her dreams, the real Jalboo seemed just as enigmatic, if less sure of himself.

"I am growing tired of the games," she smiled, sweeping over to where the men were staring at each other. "What did you tell Aidan Harper?"

Jalboo just looked at her in silent defiance.

"How his mother had died? Where to find her?"

Not a flicker across the dark features and not a word from his mouth.

"I will have to ask you to accompany me to the station," Jack growled, fed up with the farmhand's silence. But there were also wheels turning in his head. Protect him. From what?

Jalboo gave no resistance as he was escorted out to the Hispano, sat in the back without a word, wrapped in silent pride. Phryne pulled the Inspector aside.

"I believe him," she whispered. "Could you imagine that he actually told Harper what happened with his mother, trying to solve his marriage issues."

"How did he know?" Jack asked in return. "Unless he murdered her himself and then he would hardly be forthcoming."

"He doesn't have a motive," Phryne pointed out. "And certainly not to shoot him after revealing the secret himself."

"He is close to the young Mr. O'Neill..." Jack pointed out.

Loud yelling reached there ears from the inside of the house, interrupting their whispered conversation.

"Why is my name carved in that tree, Father! I want an answer!"

The Detective's looked at each other, thoughts tumbling through their minds. Then everything fell into place. They started running at the same time.

Father and Son stood in the kitchen, facing each other, both panting in anger. Laura sat on a chair in the corner, kneading her hands on her lap.

"Tell him," she pleaded with her husband.

"You stay out of this!" Pete hissed.

"What is she talking about?!" Luke demanded to know. "Tell me what?"

"You're father has been hiding a secret for 30 years," a voice behind him pointed out friendly. He spun to see Phryne Robinson stand in the door, her husband hovering behind her.

"Are you going to explain, Mr. O'Neill?" the Inspector asked. "Or would you prefer me to?"

Pete scowled at the intruders, but turned to his son, squeezing his eyes shut in thought for a long moment. Nobody took any notice of the other man who had joined them from outside. The old farmer drew a deep breath into his lungs.

"Luke.. I am not your father... At least not technically."

Absolute, suffocating silence spread through the kitchen.

"What do you...? Mother?" Luke spun to where Laura had gotten to her feet.

"She's not your mother either," Phryne said calmly. The younger farmer took a step backwards from where he had been about to embrace the pale woman.

"But we love you," Laura said, her voice trembling. "We've always loved you."

Luke shook his head.

"I don't..."

He looked like he was about to bolt and Jack squared his frame, making sure to block the door. He bumped into Jalboo, who watched the scene with a grim expression.

Pete sank into a chair.

"Evie had conceived you in a stupid love affair... we desperately wanted a child and she couldn't keep you."

"So she just handed me over? Like a Christmas present?"

Luke stared in shock from one of his parents to the other and back. Neither of them met his eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Only silence answered him.

"Did you murder her so you could have a son? Is that it?!"

"They didn't murder her," a quiet voice stated from the back. "Nobody murdered her."

The young farmer stared at Jalboo who stepped forward.

"You were in on it too? I should have known!"

"I found your m... Evie on the Rock the day she ran away. She was so overwhelmed with Aidan and her marriage. And with you growing under her heart..."

Luke shook his head, still trying to take all this information in.

"I convinced her to come back down with me. Told her that she couldn't murder an innocent child because she didn't want to live." A sad smile haunted the old man's eyes. "I didn't realise then that she only stayed alive long enough to bring you into the world."

"About a week after she'd given birth to you, she brought you to our house," Laura explained. "In the middle of the night. We searched everywhere for her, but in the end we found only her body."

Luke rubbed at his face with both hands as if he could wake up from a silly dream.

"You just buried her there and left her to the worms?" he asked, his voice cracking. "And went on as if nothing had happened?"

"We had no choice," Laura said.

"You also had your son, didn't you?" he asked bitterly. "Who cares that Aidan lost his mother? That you let me live a lie?"

"Stop it!"

Pete's scream caused his son to flinch.

"Your mother destroyed her marriage and then she threw herself from the Rock when things got complicated. Do you think Father Brevan would have welcomed her on his graveyard?! And you? You were a bastard child, Luke, born from a dalliance with a shearer! What life do you think you would have had?!"

The young man had fallen quiet, but his father was still too enraged to stop. Tears were turning his eyes translucent.

"I had to bury my sister in the dirt with my own hands, like a dog, in order to protect you! So don't you dare accuse me of taking the easy way out!"

Quiet sobbing filled the following pause. Jack offered the crying Laura a handkerchief while Phryne approached Luke like a wounded animal.

"It might be a good idea if you'd come with us," she said gently, taking the young man by the shoulder. He still looked like he wasn't certain if to break down or strangle someone when they led him out to the car and drove away.

X

They'd decided to head to the hotel. For one the station really didn't seem the appropriate place for the conversation they intended to have. And secondly the Wilson's would be able to provide a stiff drink for the shaken up Farmer along with a place to stay the night if it proved necessary. Neither of this was discussed openly, Phryne just read Jack's mind as she drove the curvy street down to Woodend. Luke O'Neill didn't say a word in the car and still nothing when he climbed from the Hispano and allowed the Inspector to lead him inside and straight into the small library where he closed the door, gently pushed the man into an armchair and filled a glass with the closest liquid at hand, which turned out to be brandy. Phryne appeared minutes later, after a whispered conversation with Miss Green, balancing a cup of tea. Luke touched neither of the offered drinks, just stared blindly out the window. The Detectives waited.

"He was my brother."

The voice was ghostly, hollow and grave. The following laugh sounded in contrast almost hysterical.

"He was my brother," he repeated. "And he hated me to his dying moment."

Phryne sat down on the arm of Jack's chair, sharing a worried look with her husband, the pictures of the morning clear in front of her eyes. The young man really had gone through the wringer today and she was scared of leaving him alone. Just now he looked up, his eyes confused and wild.

"Did they kill him? To shut him up? Did Aidan have to die for finding out?"

Jack shook his head, shoving the tumbler closer to Luke, who finally took the hint and emptied the glass in one gulp.

"I don't think so," Phryne said calmly. "It appears that Mr. Jalboo told him."

"Why would he do that?"

"To protect him."

"Protect him," Luke whispered. "He's dead."

A knock interrupted the answer Phryne had lying on her tongue. She slid to her feet, leaving the two men behind and discovering Jalboo waiting in the hall.

"Is he all right?" the man whispered, trying to catch a glimpse of his employer through the gap in the door.

"I wouldn't say that," Phryne hissed, pulling the door shut behind herself. "What were you thinking telling Aidan Harper but leaving _him_ in the dark?"

The farmhand twisted his hat in his hands, all pride gone.

"It's a long story, Miss Fisher."

"What a good thing that I haven't made any plans for the evening then," she quipped bitterly, waving him to follow her into the neighbouring tearoom. The farmhand complied without question, even though she knew that he hadn't come to speak to _her_. Miss Green, who had been in conversation with her niece, rose. She took in the situation in a split second.

"Rosemary, could you fetch our guests some tea please?" she asked calmly, tidying up the mess of cups and papers on the table. The young woman hurried away.

"Is there anything else I can do?" she asked Phryne on her way out. The Lady-Detective shook her head.

"Actually, could you let our family know that we won't join them for dinner, please?"

"Of course."

The door fell shut and they were alone. Jalboo looked deeply uncomfortable, but something about his composure told Mrs. Robinson that he was the closest link she would get to the whole truth.

"So...?" she asked.

"Aidan's behaviour got increasingly strange," Luke told Jack at the same time, just a wall away. "Finally Grace shared what was wrong with him."

"Her husband refused to have children with her," Jalboo explained, "She was desperate, begged Luke to have a word with him."

"An odd request," Phryne stated.

Jalboo shrugged his shoulders.

"They used to be very close. It had dwindled somewhat after Aidan's wedding but then brotherly blood..." He cleared his throat. "Luke rode over to Harper's station the same day. He came back barely an hour later. Absolutely furious. Locked himself in his shed for hours. After that Aidan Harper seemed to openly hate him."

Phryne nodded. She could imagine that a conversation like this wouldn't go down well.

"You wouldn't believe the things he threw at me that afternoon," Luke told the Inspector. "It appeared almost as if he wanted me to hate him. And it always came down to his mother. Her leaving was the ultimate prove how worthless he was. At times he accused even Grace of marrying him for pity."

"He thought she would leave him if they'd have a child together?" Jack asked, remembering his conversation with Miss Green.

Luke nodded grimly.

"As if one could imagine Grace betraying her husband like that! It's ridiculous and I told him as much. He wouldn't listen, threw me out of his house."

A room over Phryne was nodding as well.

"I finally drew a confession from Luke after a week of watching him brood. It took whisky and then some. I realised I had to tell both of the lads the truth. But Pete was absolutely deaf to reason."

"But you went ahead anyway?"

"His decision to protect Evie's secret at all cost was destroying both their lives. Luke fell apart under our eyes."

The young farmer was playing with the bandage on his hand.

"Seeing her happy with him had been hard," he finally pressed out. "But seeing her unhappy proved to be unbearable."

"You love her," the Inspector said. It wasn't a question.

"We are friends," Luke insisted. The Inspector realised that he wasn't going to get anywhere. There was a stonewall between Luke O'Neill and the acceptance of feelings that were any less than platonic for his 'friend'.

"I hear you are intending on leaving Woodend. Are you reconsidering, now that Mr. Harper has died?"

The farmer shook his head.

"I am more determined than ever," he admitted, being compelled to explain further by Jack raising his brows. "What else am I to do? Use the chance to court Aidan's widow? Hardly."

The bitterness in his voice was so toxic that Jack felt the need to withdraw. He settled back in his chair, trying to find a comfortable position.

"Aidan was never an easy companion," the young farmer mused. "Despite that I adored him, he was like a big brother to me." He realised the flaw in his sentence and smiled grimly. "Considering, I believe he _was_ my big brother, Inspector. But following our conversation, everything that might have been still salvageable was inevitably broken."

"So, what happened?" Phryne asked, a room over, after Rosemary had left again, stirring sugar into her steaming cup.

"I went to see Aidan Harper, about a month back. I confessed everything, knowingly exposing the O'Neills. I did not go about it light-hearted, Miss Fisher. Laura always lived in fear of discovery."

"She almost fainted when she heard that Jack was an Inspector," Phryne recalled. Jalboo nodded grimly.

"She fears for her husband. And for Luke. The boy has been withdrawing lately. Carving in his shed late into the night. He comes right after his father, he won't talk. She is scared that he will take to the Rock himself one day." Jalboo took a deep breath. "I did not dare speak to him without his father's consent...

There was a break, as he sorted his thoughts.

"For all you may think, Miss Fisher. I never meant harm to Aidan Harper. He was Evie's son! But my confession was in vain. He wouldn't believe me."

"You hoped the truth would save his marriage?"

"I did," he admitted. "And I was wrong. Things became more... complicated."

The farmhand paused, as if unsure if to continue.

"I watched Grace Harper kiss Luke last night."

Phryne actually was lost for words, which didn't happen very often. Jalboo didn't wait for a comment.

"I was too far away to understand how it had come about, but they argued afterwards."

"So that compelled you to return to Harper's house?"

"I had to attempt beating some sense into his thick skull before it was too late."

"Was he alone?"

"I recall a second glass on the table, but I saw noone else. He himself was three sheets to the wind and very angry."

"Did you touch his glass?"

"You already know the answer to that," Jalboo smiled, then went serious.  
"Miss Fisher, it wasn't Luke. You must believe that. He was home all night."

"Did you stay home last night, Mr O'Neill?" Jack asked just a thin wall away. The farmer looked up from his dark thoughts at the sudden change of question. He swallowed dryly.

"No, in fact I didn't, Inspector."

X

An important knock tore John Robinson from a well deserved nap. It took him a moment to recognise the flowery pattern dominating his hotel room and he swore underneath his breath at the fleeting feeling that he had just woken from the sweetest of dreams to a nightmare. Drowsy with sleep he fished his slippers out from underneath the bed and shuffled to the door, just when another knock, this one more impatient than the last, arrived.

"I am coming," he called grumpily, "if you'd be so kind as to not break down my..."

He ripped on the handle with enthusiasm, then faltered.

"...door."

"I believe my sister might take offence if I damaged her property," Mia Green offered with a lopsided grin. John swallowed down the swearwords lying on his tongue, wishing he had made himself presentable before foolishly opening the door to this woman.

He intended to bark a question, but instead found himself smoothing down his dishevelled locks with one hand and clearing his throat.

"I've been asleep," he mumbled.

"I apologize for disturbing you," Miss Green stated, not looking sorry at all. The amused glimmer in her eyes finally shook him out of his dazed state.

"Was there any particular reason for your intrusion?" he asked, his voice not quite playing along with his attempt to be rude. Now she looked actually... embarrassed?

"You're daughter-in-law asked me to inform you that the Inspector and she won't be able to join you for dinner," she explained calmly. "I knocked on both doors but was told that Mr. and Mrs. Walker went out and the Doctor is still with the police..."

"Don't worry," he grumbled. "It's hardly a surprise that they got sidetracked by their case. Was there anything else?"

She didn't answer, but neither did she make any move to retreat - just stood at his doorstep and for the first time he looked at her properly. She had gained ten years in age since yesterday and he suddenly remembered what he'd overheard in her conversations with Jack and Phryne.

"While you are here," he said, his hands moving uncomfortably by his sides, "I feel I should express my condolences."

Mia looked shocked, trying to wave off his sympathy with a gesture, but her composure was crumbling.

"Mr. Harper was no relation of mine," she said stiffly. He huffed.

"As if the heart cared."

She nodded, before she added quietly: "It appears it doesn't."

Her eyes had gone muddy with tears and John had to remind himself that he really was too old a man to be moved by the old damsel-in-distress nonsense.

"Bloody thing it is, the heart" he grumbled under his breath without receiving an answer. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he stepped aside.

"Why don't you come in? Have a drink with me?"

She cocked her head, her cheekiness returning.

"I believed you unable to drink?"

"You aren't intending to tell my son, are you?" he grumbled while she obediently entered his room. John took a deep breath and let the door fall shut behind them.

X

The twilight dipped the small library into blue gloom, when Phryne finally came looking for her husband. She found him sitting alone in the armchairs she had left him in, cradling an empty glass in his hands.

"Mr. O'Neill?" she asked, sitting down in the chair opposite, which was still warm.

"Has returned home," Jack explained, setting down the glass. Phryne measured it quickly and was strangely relieved when she realised that it only held a rest of water. "He insisted on walking," Jack added after a moment, as if he needed to apologize. His face was strangely grave and Phryne couldn't help but wonder what had transpired during his interview.

"Mr. Jalboo came to enquire after him," she explained instead of asking. "He freely admits to having told Mr. Harper about his mother's death and being responsible for the carvings in the tree."

"Why Luke's name?"

Phryne shrugged.

"Laura O'Neill insisted. An act of guilt I assume, trying to reunite the mother with her son?"

"How did he know?" Jack asked, seemingly having lost the ability to speak in anything more than short sentences. It was around that time that Phryne spotted the empty pack of headache powder on the table.

"Jalboo enquired at her brother's house after her whereabouts and Mr. O'Neill senior, after a little yelling match, finally decided to confide in him."

"He helped them with their charade? The great miraculous conception?"

She stared at him briefly, wondering if it was humour or bitterness tinting his voice. She couldn't tell.

"He felt a responsibility to watch over Luke and they respected his wishes."

"Or at least they allowed him to cover up their mistakes," Jack grumbled under his breath, rubbing his temples. Phryne leaned back, watching her husband carefully. She didn't like this. Didn't like it at all.

"Mr. O'Neill has a point," she stated."Luke's life as an orphan, conceived in a dalliance would have hardly turned out as it did."

Jack nodded grimly at this, brushing his palms over his face.

"Undoubtedly." He rose. "It doesn't mean I have to excuse their behaviour."

"What alternative do you propose?" Phryne asked. He made a helpless gesture in the air.

"Jack?"

He waited for her to join him.

"I need a wash and another powder before dinner," he explained calmly. "My head is killing me."

Phryne's hand slipped around his waist, pulling him closer. He gave no resistance.

"What's the matter?" she asked while gently moulding her hand against the side of his face. He looked at her, gulped, obviously searching for words. She fully expected some sort of quibble but not what she received.

"I just want to go home."

The statement hung breathlessly in the air, spoken so quietly and yet with so much honesty that it crawled underneath her skin and into her bones. The hint of an embarrassed grin on his lips broke the spell.

"But there is a case to solve that cares little about my homesickness or any other discomfort."

She raised her second hand to frame his tired face.

"We can leave, Jack. Just say the word."

Sincerity snuck into his smile.

"That's very flattering, Miss Fisher, yet I fear I'll have to fulfil my obligations." His restless fingers fiddled with a frill of her blouse. "And I am glad to have you here with me."

"Always, Inspector."

She reached up to kiss him with all the tenderness in the world, feeling his heartbeat and his warm breath as he leaned his forehead against hers. They stood, engulfed in the blue of the dying day in the darkening library, wrapped up in a quiet embrace, reinforcing their promises, the vows they had spoken once in front of the world and a million times behind closed doors.

Jack sighed, retreating from his wife's warm arms.

"We had better get back to the Harper's station and speak to the farmwor-"

A finger to his lips silenced him while Phryne fished for his watch with her free hand.

"The one thing we had got to do is go eat dinner," she said. "No more case tonight."

He opened his mouth to protest.

"It can wait until tomorrow. I don't recall your last meal."

In all honesty, neither could Jack and so he offered his arm and led her upstairs where they got changed for dinner.

While he was scratching the afternoon stubble from his cheeks, he heard her hiss in annoyance and turned to watch Phryne trail her fingertips up her leg.

"You still suffering of your rash?" he asked. She let her hand sink and shook her head.

"I seem to have forgotten my razor," she explained, finishing to pull up her stocking.

"I recall you being a little distracted while packing," he smirked, laying down the razor and smoothing out his tie.

"Through no fault of my own," she complained, slipping to her feet. "But our enlengthened stay is proving a little annoying in this regard."

Jack smiled.

"I am not entirely certain why you insist on shaving your legs as it is. Surely, you are not embarrassed by the hair God gave you, Miss Fisher?"

Phryne rolled her eyes at him and opened up a button on his vest that he had closed oddly during their conversation.

"I am not embarrassed by anything nature gave me, Inspector Robinson."

Her eyes held dangerous promise and he smiled to himself, pulling her closer, his hand slipping down her back with a clear goal.

"But I do prefer them smooth all the same."

"In that case," he smiled, gently pushing her backwards until she was sitting on the edge of the bed again, "I believe I owe you a favour."

With wide eyes but unable to suppress a smile, she watched on as he returned to her side with his shaving utensils and knelt down at her feet.

"Would you care to remove this stocking for me, Miss Fisher?"

She cocked her head at the hungry expression in his eyes.

"A very cheeky demand, Inspector. I've only just put them on."

He smiled dangerously, his fingers brushing up her dress and with one well trained movement opening her garter clasp. Phryne gasped, half in surprise, half arousal. The second followed. Before she had had time to catch her breath, his rough fingers were carefully rolling down the only just fastened stocking. She wriggled her toes, when he reached her feet, tickling her with his gentle caress.

"Any further protest, Miss Fisher?" he asked. Considering that his fingers were still near her soles, she considered her answer for a moment.

"I am not certain if I should trust you with a knife near my legs, Inspector," she breathed when he began to foam up the soap with his brush.

"I believe that is a risk you just might have to take," he smiled, encircling her ankle with his fingers to hold her still while he spread the foam. Phryne gave up all resistance as the rough brush caressed her skin in gentle circles. She watched on breathlessly as the blade cut through the foam, leaving only soft, white skin behind on her leg. In complete concentration Jack continued his delicate task, absolutely set on not allowing any harm to come to her and she wasn't certain if he was purposefully proving just how careless she had been in contrast. The knife gently glided over her knee, following every bump, as his hand settled on her thigh to hold her still. Phryne bit his bottom lip while she watched him kneel between her legs, in complete concentration edging further upwards. The quickening of his breath betrayed that he was well aware of his position, yet he wouldn't allow himself a moment to consider his arousal. A cheeky toe snuck up his trouser-clad leg, brushing against his hardness. Jack's squeezed his eyes shut but his hand held stubbornly still, not scraping her skin. She was almost disappointed.

"I would refrain from teasing me, if I was you," he whispered hoarsely. "It seems currently a dangerous undertaking."

"It is always dangerous to tease you."

"And why is that, Miss Fisher?"

The blade moved higher, his fingers now close to her undergarments and Phryne couldn't find an answer in her hormon-flooded brain. She sank back onto her elbows as he retreated, taking the tension away with him and leaving her dissatisfied, only for his hands to return moments later and release her from her second stocking.

"So?" he encouraged, once he had started soaping her left shin.

"You are quite possibly the most dangerous man I've ever encountered," she said. A brief hesitation of the brush betrayed his surprise. Yet he didn't question her explanation, just continued with his task.

"Jack Robinson, a man as straight as an arrow, honest, kind, not a vice worth mentioning and all in all seeming so very harmless until..."

"Until?" Jack asked, intrigued.

"Until this most civil of men has stolen himself into one's heart and spread his barbs in every fibre of a woman's body," she breathed, as his straight razor resumed it's delicate work. "And one has forgotten how to breath without him."

The air caught in Jack's lungs while he willed his hands to continue shaving her.

"The description of a cruel man," he quipped in an attempt to hide just how much her words affected him.

"Very cruel," she smiled, her fingers clenching into the sheets as his hand brushed over the inside of her thigh. "His fascination knows no limits and he has no regard for it. It appears at times that he is completely oblivious to his effects."

His hand finally stilled as he looked up and found her eyes the most intense blue he had ever seen. She smiled. Discovering that his throat had restricted too much to reply, Jack leaned in to brush a tender kiss to her thigh. She moaned quietly, still watching him with undivided attention.

"No regard at all," she whispered hoarsely.

He didn't answer, only his tongue painted a slow trail up her soft, white skin until he reached the edge of golden silk, then his lashes fluttered open briefly, seeking her consent before continuing. He wasn't denied. And so he resumed his delicious torture, proving to her just how cruel he could be. Jack Robinson, a man as straight as an arrow, robbed the Honourable Phryne Fisher of her senses five times before he allowed her to escape from his clutches into the world of dreams.


	34. Chapter 33: The Long Hours Of Night

**Good evening. Since many of you seem behind and some have even asked me to slow down on posting, I've come to the decision that I'll take a bit of a break. If you are one of the readers who are waiting daily for their chapter, I apologize. The truth is that it's all too much to deal with at the moment and I need to take a step backwards somewhere. Please be patient, it will be finished, just not right now. Thank you.**

**Chapter 33: The Long Hours Of Night**

The setting sun drew patterns over the path following the creek. For an onlooker it was hard to tell if the two walking women in fact knew each other. They weren't speaking nor touching. Mac was currently reluctant to make any familiar gestures, even though her anger had subsided after another long but pointless discussion. Now they had run out of words to say.

Suddenly fingers snuck into Mac's. She started, but didn't withdraw.

"I'm not certain if this is a good idea," she said sharply while holding on.

"There is nobody here."

She didn't point out that they might still be watched. She guessed it was too late to pretend they weren't a couple as it was. The envelope burned a hole into her pocket.

"Are you going to tell me about it?" Hazel asked. "The second note."

Mac's head snapped up, her surprise of such a quality that her lover had trouble not to laugh.

"I know you too well to consider you a worrywart, so something had happened," she explained calmly. "You didn't hide it well."

Elizabeth raked her brain for something to say.

"So you found it necessary to go through my things?" she asked.

"Considering that it was addressed to me, I should be the one complaining about theft," Hazel grinned. They walked on in silence, both hanging after their thoughts. Suddenly the Doctor stopped.

"I love you and I won't allow any of this to happen to you!"

"They are just empty threats," Hazel protested.

"How can you know that?! There are plenty of people out there full of prejudice and the belief that violence can shape the world after their imagination."

Mac realised that she had raised her voice and added more quietly: "I just want you to be safe from harm."

Hazel nodded, reaching out her hand to touch her cheek.

"Nothing is going to happen," she assured her worked-up lover. "Nothing at all. The author of this nonsense is a coward or why else would he write anonymous letters?"

Mac glanced up the path briefly before she pulled Hazel's hand to her lips.

"Please promise me to be careful," she asked.

"Promised. And now drop it."

Mac grumbled quietly but took Hazel's hand again all the same as they continued their evening walk.

X

In the dining room, in a private corner away from the other guests, a married couple sat, his hand casually touching her's while they waited for the soup to be served. Iris and Rupert had somehow ended up taking dinner alone. Neither of them minded much.

"Are you still wanting to go ahead with it?" he asked, after they'd taken the first spoonful. "After everything that happened there?"

Iris thought about this for a moment.

"Of course. It was his wish."

They shared a smile and he retrieved his hand to concentrate on eating.

"It's fascinating," she stated after a while. "This woman has been lying undisturbed for 30 years and Jack and Phryne have been barely here for a weekend."

"Your cousin has definitely a talent for finding trouble."

"As proven by his choice of wife."

He glanced at her questioningly across the table, which Iris acknowledged with a grin.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. I was joking."

She broke off a piece of bread before continuing. "Even though Phryne certainly isn't going to leave him bored any time soon."

"Well, they share an enjoyment of dashing about after criminals. I personally am glad that you are not a Lady-Detective."

"Are you?"

Rupert set down his wine glass.

"I certainly am. I prefer the knowledge that you are alive and well and will still be when I return home in the evening instead of being somewhere in a killer's den, getting shot at."

She hummed approval while she took a sip of her own glass.

"Considering, I prefer you sitting in an office as well," she admitted after a young waitress had served their main course. "Knowing loved ones in constant danger might be something one can get used to... but I never bore it well."

Rupert abandoned his roasted lamb in order to touch her hand. She smiled thinly.

"Of course, the loss of both Father and Christian didn't help this notion."

Her husband nodded wordless understanding.

"But at least Will and Jack came home safe," she added, absent-mindedly.

"Only for the latter to throw himself into any danger he can find along Melbourne's streets," Rupert grinned.

"I believe that is called irony, my darling."

Rupert didn't ask any further, satisfied that she was smiling despite the grim subject. They finished their meal with upbeat chatter and not another mention of Iris's first husband hidden in their wardrobe upstairs.

X

A faint sound woke her. Phryne forced her eyes open, trying to decipher where it had come from. In the darkness she made out Jack, lying on his stomach, still fully dressed. She hadn't managed to undo more than a few buttons, an oversight she was planning to correct at an appropriate hour. Her stomach growled again, reinforcing that said hour wasn't now. Carefully, very carefully she grasped for Jack's wrist, thrown across his pillow, concentrating her eyes on the hands of his watch. Not careful enough as it turned out; his eyes snapped open the very moment she touched him.

With a mumbled sound that could have been a question he pulled himself half upright, his sleepy expression betraying worry mixed into his confusion. All she could do was not to roll her eyes at him. His light sleep was an infuriating trait.

"I am going to find us some food," she explained, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and fishing for her morning gown. In difference to his, her clothes had made their way to the floor and a variety of other surfaces. "It is definitely too late for dinner."

In fact it was after midnight and a certain bet that the kitchen was closed at this stage.

"You aren't intending to commit any breaking and entering, are you, Miss Fisher?" the Inspector yawned while untangling himself from the sheets.

"You know me too well, Jack," she grinned, tying her belt and fishing a razor from the floor seconds before his naked soles would have found an unhappy encounter with them. He had seen her movement and pointedly slipped into his shoes before following her. While Phryne wouldn't have asked him to accompany her, but she was glad for it all the same.

"I hope you have packed your picklock. I'm not keen on damaging Mrs. Tattler's property. Or explaining to her why we've missed dinner."

"What do you take me for, Inspector?"

The raised instrument gleamed in her fingers as he opened the door for her and followed her into the hall.

"I refuse to answer that, Miss Fisher," he whispered, then fell silent as they carefully made their way down the stairs. The hall lay in absolute silence, all guests seemed to have left by now or retired early. Phryne shivered, blaming the cool air and her naked legs rather than the coldness creeping up her spine. The fireplace, during the day inviting to sit down and wait for the winter, now was a gaping black hole, threatening to swallow them. She tore her eyes away from it's blackness, making her way towards where she thought the kitchen was located. Neither of them had seen it as of yet, but they had watched the employers long enough to be able to find it without incidents. The lock gave way quietly after mere seconds and with a triumphant grin Phryne swung the door open.

"Open sesame," she grinned.

"I rather hope finding something more nutritious than gold in here," the Inspector whispered, having discovered a ravenous appetite in the last few minutes.

"It is beyond me how you can forget to eat while constantly starving," Phryne quipped, switching on the light and, after having blinked away the brightness, inspecting various equipment until her attention was caught by something promising.

"I believe the one might be rooted in the other," Jack pointed out, opening the lid of a pot someone had graciously left on the stove.

"One could be forgiven to think that after more than a year with your feet under Mr. B's table you would have put a few pounds on those skinny ribs," Phryne mumbled from where she was raiding a cupboard. "Instead I can still take my eyes out with your hipbones."

"I apologize for any attempts on your eyesight," the Inspector grinned from where he was ladling something smelling of beef into a bowl. "It's due to no fault of Mr. Butler's kitchen, I assure you."

Phryne grumbled, digging her fork into some sort of bake. It wasn't exactly true. Jack had put on some weight over time, subtly and slowly. He was certainly in no danger of growing fat; he was too busy a man and too little attached to regular meals. But his thin frame had filled in over time, his belly, always somewhat of a weak spot, had grown a little softer, his ribs less easy to draw along with her fingers. She had never paid much thought to it, but in retrospect it was a calming knowledge. He had settled, emotionally and physically.

She was good for him.

The thought was startling and Phryne coughed as cold potato went down the wrong part of her throat.

"You all right?" he asked from where he was sitting on a counter with dangling legs, reminding of an adolescent raiding his mother's kitchen. She nodded, trying to capture the notion that had escaped her grasp. Guarding him, keeping him alive was the the one thing. Of course she would want him to stay safe, had always wanted him to, long before her heart had sped up at the mention of his name or the sound of his voice. But this... was different. She twirled the idea in her mind, looked at it from all sides but came to no conclusion whatsoever.

She resolved to watch him over the edge of her plate as he shovelled some sort of stew into his mouth with great appetite and even greater enthusiasm. He had changed, grown, since their first meeting that seemed now so long ago it could have been another lifetime. Of course, she'd noticed the changes. She'd never quite accounted them to herself though. Suddenly it seemed obvious.

"You appear to have fallen asleep on me, Miss Fisher," he pointed out. She realised that he had been talking to her but could not recall a word of what had been said.

"Not quite. But I think it is time we retired," she smiled thinly after a moment's thought. Phryne could hardly imagine getting to sleep right now but some peace and quiet to attend to her thoughts seemed a welcome idea. He didn't buy into her nonchalance, but chose not to ask any more questions and instead helped her from the table she had been occupying before stacking their plates.

"We had better let Mrs. Tattler know first thing in the morning," he decided while pulling the kitchen door shut, "before she calls Sergeant Ferguson on us."

"A potentially embarrassing thought," Phryne quipped.

The sound of something hitting the floor stopped them in their tracks.

"That sounded like paper," she hissed.

Jack nodded, adding quietly: "It could be someone working late in the office?"

"Or someone else breaking and entering," his wife whispered before hurrying further down the hallway. They arrived at the door together. Phryne gently pushed down the handle, creating a small opening. A hooded figure was riffling through paperwork, his back turned to them. Night wind blew through the window which was bent out of it's frame. Jack felt an acute longing for his pistol, but realised that Phryne was about to charge into the room and held her back by the shoulder, shaking his head in earnestness. She was still barefoot, clad in nothing more than a morning gown. She pulled her lips into a pout, but took an obedient step backwards.

Carefully, the Inspector edged forward. With no weapon his best bet would be a surprise attack. He managed to get almost a metre behind the man when he suddenly spun, the white of his eyes the only thing visible in the dark office. Jack raised his arms in defence, but instead of attacking the intruder scrambled through the open window, disappearing into the night. Cursing, the Inspector raced after him, tearing his clothes on the broken wood. He could hear Phryne panting behind him, then curse, when she jumped into the gravel underneath. With naked soles the little stones couldn't very comfortable. He had no time to feel sorry for her, the dark silhouette had already reached the gate leading out into the alley which separated the hotel garden and the neighbouring property. Speeding up, the Inspector flew across the cool grass, night air stinging in his lungs. He really wasn't 20 any more. At the gate he stopped, turning his head to both sides, but to no avail. The man had disappeared. He walked a few tentative steps to the right before turning to where Phryne was just reaching the gate. The sudden movement in the shadows took him by surprise. Then the world turned into an ocean of red hot pain.


	35. Chapter 34: Blackbird Has Spoken

**Evening. Following the request of the lovely Roseandthistle I've decided to do at least a weekly update to not let you hang out to dry completely on the Kurrajong front. I'm currently flat with a cold so making a little process. I hope you enjoyed the last episode as much as I have, it was rather magical. **

**Chapter 34: Blackbird Has Spoken**

She heard the muffled scream, watched her husband's silhouette collapse. Phryne was yelling herself, she could tell, but no sense came out of her mouth. The dark shadow started running again as she scrambled to her knees beside the groaning Inspector, who was lying in a foetal position on the ground.

"Jack?"

"I'm fine," he groaned out without opening his eyes. He didn't seem fine, but she took it as encouragement to race after the intruder, bare soles slapping over compressed dirt. Phryne halted where the alley reached the street, turning on the spot. But there was no trail of the man. As she dragged air into her lungs and the tension drained away she became acutely aware of a burning sensation in her right foot. Her battered knees joined into the complaint as she limped back towards her husband. Jack had by now managed to peel himself from the ground and was holding onto the fence, battling with himself if to empty his stomach or not.

"Are you injured?" he asked when she approached, his voice still strangled with the effort of getting over the pain and nausea. She shook her head.

"I must have stepped into something."

"I'd recommend a pair of shoes for your next wild chase, Miss Fisher," Jack panted, attempting to hide his own limp as they made their way back into the garden.

"Does that mean you will be wearing a cup in future?" she smiled grimly.

"I generally expect common decency even in criminals," he complained. "He was not a very fair fighter."

"Thank God he didn't bring a pistol tonight."

Despite her playful tone, she wasn't in fact joking. For a few breathless moments Phryne had found herself in one of her nightmares until she had realised the nature of Jack's injury. The relief about him merely facing agony rather than a knife to the stomach or heart caused guilt to roar it's ugly head as she she watched him climb through the window under a variety of groans before barricading it as well as possible behind them. She'd naturally never experienced this kind of pain herself but had heard from various sources that it wasn't pleasant – many of them expressing themselves in the form of swearwords addressed at her. For the first time she wondered what effects exactly a hit aimed between the legs had in the long run.

"Maybe we should wake Mac," she proposed, noticing that Jack was still limping on his way up the stairs.

"Don't you dare," he growled. "I will certainly not have her poke around there."

"You might be inju-"

He raised his hand, cutting her off.

"It's not my first encounter of the kind, it won't be the last. Just leave it."

Jack's anger confused her but she decided to let it rest. He switched on the light, blinding both of them in the process and made to get changed into his pyjamas. Her confusion grew as she sat down at the edge of the bed, watching him and half-heartedly trying to twist her foot to look at the still stinging sole.

"Show me," he demanded, gently taking her ankle in a resemblance of a gesture earlier in the evening. He poked around for a little while, accompanied by her complains and grimaces, before finally showing her a thick thorn.

"You've collected a little souvenir in the garden."

"A lesson learned to take footwear for any nightly excursions," she smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

"A weapon might also be a good idea," he grumbled, slipping underneath the sheets and stretching out on his back. His flinch betrayed that he was still hurting. She switched off the lights before joining him, snuggling into his cotton covered shoulder and settling a hand on his stomach. He gently removed it from himself, but held onto it. Phryne waited.

"I let down my guard," he said into the darkness.

"You couldn't have known that he was hiding."

"He caught me on the hop and I dropped like a sack of potatoes."

An arm wrapped around her, waking in her a sudden suspicion what this was about besides the obvious embarrassment at having been beaten so easily.

"Why on earth did you chase after him?"

She shrugged.

"I'm am like a cat, I can't help following moving objects," she joked but realised that he was serious. "I could have defended myself, Jack, you know that."

There was silence for a long moment.

"He had a weapon, Phryne."

She started.

"He didn't use his fist..." Jack explained, flinching in memory. "There was something metallic involved."

"The murder weapon?"

This time it was the Inspector's turn to shrug.

"I didn't get a good look at it, it all happened too quickly and I was somewhat distracted."

Silence crept in as they tried to get comfortable. Jack had an increasingly hard time to accomplish this amongst the bruises he had collected in the last few days. His head was also pounding again after the powder had worn off, giving his still aching groin a run for it's money.

"Why break into the hotel's office?" Phryne asked what they both had been pondering. "They don't keep any money there."

"If it was in fact the killer he probably was more interested in whatever could lead us to him."

"So we should sift through the paperwork in the office," Phryne yawned. "We might have disturbed him before he could find what he was looking for."

"A very good idea, Miss Fisher," Jack mumbled, rolling onto his side to take some pressure from his stomach. "But if it's all the same to you, I would like to get some sleep first."

Minutes later a quiet duet of snoring filled the hotel room.

X

An annoying bird warbled right in front of his window, dragging him into consciousness. The magpie eyed the scowling man curiously, then flew away. The next thing assaulting John's senses was the flowery wall-paper that caused his head to throb with vigour. He certainly hadn't missed this about drinking! He rubbed his forehead and turned with a groan, stilled, moved his foot again to where it had brushed against a warm leg that was not any part of _his_ body. Then he sat up, wild eyes dashing to the empty bottle on the small table, the two glasses, one of them still a lipstick smear on the rim. It couldn't be...

He reluctantly turned his head. All he could see was grey hair and a piece of shoulder, but the woman was certainly very real and there was absolutely no doubt on who it was - even though the circumstances of how she had ended up here were currently rather fuzzy. As quietly as he could manage, John slipped from the bed and threw on some completely mismatched clothes, his thoughts racing in endless circles, most of them along the lines of: "Oh God!". Of all women in the world it just had to be Mia Green!

He rushed out the door after the briefest of freshening ups, hoping to the Heavens that nobody would see her leave his room. Downstairs he ran into a rather disconcerted looking Rosemary Wilson.

"Good morning, Mr. Robinson," she smiled politely. "Would you have seen my aunt by any chance?"

"What would I have to do with your aunt's whereabouts?!"

The young woman stared at him in shock, looking like she was going to burst into tears and he regretted his rudeness instantly. After all it wasn't her fault that he couldn't hold his alcohol.

"My apologies. I didn't mean to bother you." She smiled thinly.

"Never you mind," he grumbled, halting against his better judgement. "You look, if you allow me to say, as if you've had a bad morning?"

Mrs. Wilson swallowed, obviously still battling with tears.

"Our office has been broken into and the kitchen rampaged and Mother is in tatters. Aunt Amilia usually is the one keeping a clear head in this house."

A sudden vivid flashback distracted John Robinson. A clear head she certainly hadn't kept in the last night. He swallowed down any comments.

"Have you spoken to my son about the break-in?" he asked. "It might be related to his case."

Rosemary Wilson shook her head, causing a ripple to go through her dark locks.

"The Inspector seems to be still asleep. I didn't feel it necessary to disturb him."

John nodded.

"Well, you've found yourself another policeman, young Lady. Lead on, I'll have a look at your break-in and maybe I can calm your mother."

In truth he currently felt about as calm as a hurricane, but then every distraction would do to not think about Aunt Amilia currently snoring into his pillow.

X

She was running through the forest, her heels sinking into the soft ground. The sun falling through the treetops drew mesmerising pattern of light across her, disorienting her, but she couldn't stop. She saw them from afar, Jack's body on the ground, the man over him still holding his tie, finishing the job. Foyle looked up from his murder and grinned. Phryne's feet still flew towards them, inching forward at a painfully slow speed, like trying to walk through water.

"Why did you let him die?" a voice asked. Phryne tried to ignore her. She didn't care about Evie Harper right now. She needed to get to Jack. A hand grasped her shoulder, held her tightly.

"Why did you let my son die?!"

"I didn't!"

She shook the woman off, trying to forget the coldness of her fingers. Foyle had disappeared by the time she reached Jack, scrambled to her knees beside him. She'd been there before, he was still alive, she just needed to loosen the tie...

"Why did you let him die?" a cold voice whispered beside her ear.

There was no pulse. Not the faintest bit of heartbeat, no sign of air rushing into his lungs. She laid her head onto his chest. Nothing.

"Why?" the question echoed in her ears. "Why did you let him die?"

"He's not dead!"

"You know better than that."

It was a male voice this time and for a brief moment she thought it was Jack, but his eyes were still closed, his lips an unhealthy shade of blue.

"Aidan Harper has paid the price. And more people will die."

She looked around where Jalboo stood, smiling at her. Phryne jumped to her feet, grabbing the surprised man by the collar.

"Is Jack going to be one of them!?" she asked. Jalboo just shrugged and she shook him. "Tell me!"

"I cannot tell you, Miss Fisher."

He dissolved between her hands, leaving her alone with Jack's body and the mesmerising light.

Phryne forced her eyes open, blinking into the bright sunlight flooding through the open window. Lay still until she had confirmed that there was in fact regular breathing sounding from the other side of the bed. Then she peeled herself from the sheets. She was drenched in sweat and filled with the numb longing for her bathtub at home. No wonder Jack was sick of their trip abroad, she pondered while she had another cat wash. He hadn't been over the moon by Iris's idea to begin with, much in difference to his wife. And now they were stuck here.

She turned, finding herself being watched. Jack's eyes followed her every movement as she approached the bed and sat by his bedside as if he was a sick child. His pyjamas were piled at her feet, he had gotten hot during the night.

"We've slept in," he stated, "I fear they have discovered both nightly intrusions by now."

"I would suspect so."

The conclusion convinced neither of them to make any move towards rectifying the situation. Instead, Jack lifted the covers and Phryne slipped underneath, snuggling her back against him.

"I can't say I am particularly keen on leaving this bed today," he mumbled into her hair.

Phryne smiled quietly, wrapping their fingers together and pulling them to her chest.

"We might have to stay here then."

Instead of an answer, Jack buried his nose in her locks. He was well aware that he was wasting time he could have just as well spent investigating. But there seemed not a fibre in his body which wasn't aching and not an inch of motivation to try and get his limbs into an upright position. Maybe they could allow themselves to escape for a little while?

"If Evie Harper took her own life, then Aidan discovering her body wasn't the motive for his murder," Phryne murmured, destroying her husband's short-lived daydream of a break from the case.

"Which means we are back to where we started," Jack sighed.

She pondered this for a while.

"Unless whoever shot Harper feared that it _was _murder."

Jack's arms tightened around her.

"You are thinking of Luke O'Neill?"

"He must have at least harboured some suspicions or the carved name wouldn't have compelled him to confront his father."

Phryne turned in Jack's arms, leaving an uncomfortable trail of elbows and knees for him to bear.

"You interviewed him."

The Inspector reluctantly opened his eyes but couldn't help but smile at Phryne's flushed cheeks. The chase suited her much better than being a worryguts.

"He seems to remember his cousin with much more fondness than during his lifetime," he recalled.

"Could be an act," Phryne stated thoughtfully.

The Inspector sighed, absent-mindedly settling a hand on her hip.

"He found the body, he doesn't have an alibi for the time of the murder and he is in love with the man's wife, even though he wouldn't admit to that under torture. And the grudge between them is known across town."

"So he has an awful lot of motive."

"Undeniably," Jack admitted grumpily.

"Toss on top his fear of having his family torn apart..."

"And Grace Harper's dubious request for his help to solve her marriage issues," the Inspector threw in.

"...we have a pretty clear case," Phryne stated. Jack averted his eyes to watch his fingertips trail over her arm.

"A bit too clear for my taste."

Phryne touched her grumbling husband's cheek.

"You have taken a liking to him," she stated.

"He is not a puppy, Phryne."

She grinned.

"You aren't denying it then?"

The satisfaction in her still naked features was unmissable. Jack groaned, trying to find a way to explain himself.

"Luke O'Neill is an admirable young man," he said. "It takes some character to carry yourself with dignity in such a love triangle and be a reliable friend to the woman you were hoping to marry."

"The woman who kissed him the other night."

Jack started.

"I believe I forgot to tell you," Phryne grinned. "Mr. Jalboo witnessed a rather indiscreet encounter the evening of the murder."

The Inspector frowned.

"Did he reciprocate?"

"Apparently it was one-sided and your friend proceeded to be furious with her."

She could feel her husband take a breath of relief.

"Then it makes little sense that he would go and shoot his rival afterwards."

"True," Phryne smiled. "Unless his anger wasn't about the kiss."

"You think she asked him for a favour?"

"Mrs. Harper might have considered a more hands-on approach on solving her marriage issues?"

The Inspector's features darkened.

"I can't see it," he said after a moment of pondering. Phryne decided to not ask if that was the Inspector talking or Jack, who had found something about the young man which touched him. She didn't know what it was but it was rare enough for her husband to be biased in a case that it woke her curiosity.

"What about Packard?" he asked. "If he inherits the farm that he believes should by right be his, he still has a motive. And he was the last person to see him."

"We don't know if he did in fact open the door," Phryne pointed out. "But lets assume he didn't. Who else could Harper have met in the middle of town? Someone he would have taken out there to search for his mother?"

"Mr. Jalboo? After all he was the one to tell him where to look."

It was Phryne's turn to frown. She felt strangely connected with the man who haunted her dreams.

"What reason could he have to shoot him?"

"He has been living for three decades with the O'Neills. He is regarded family," Jack explained his reasoning.

"So, if Harper threatened to expose them rather than just make his peace with the past..." Phryne thought aloud.

"Then his loyalty to the O'Neills might have caused him to take desperate measures."

Phryne hummed unhappily, pulling herself up on her elbow.

"We still don't know who Harper's visitor was," she changed the subject.

"We know who it wasn't. I took fingerprints from Luke O'Neill. They weren't a match."

"What about his parents? They had plenty of reason to hide their secrets."

"They would have to know that a murder right on Evie's grave would draw attention to it."

"Their secret was about to be exposed and pulling a trigger doesn't demand much thought."

For a long moment they lay in silence, letting their thoughts drift. A magpie warbled into the pause.

"I wonder if we disturbed the killer last night."

"And why he was carrying if he had not intention of using his gun," the Inspector grumbled. "To shoot at least."

Phryne felt her stomach churning.

"I don't care for his reasoning as much as for the fact that he didn't," she pointed out sharper than she had intended. Jack looked at her in confusion before he cleared his throat. But as much as he thought about it, he couldn't come up with anything to say.

"We need to find out what, if anything, is missing from the office," he finally stated weakly. Phryne nodded, then sat up abruptly.

"In fact, there is."

The Inspector watched on in astonishment as she climbed from the bed and started riffling through her things before returning triumphantly with a slim folder and climbing back under the sheets.

"I almost forgot about this," she grinned, opening the council protocols filled with the tidy handwriting of a school teacher. "Now lets see what our 'nasty threesome' is up to."


	36. Chapter 35: Smell The Flowers

**Chapter 35: Smell The Flowers**

"Quick, she's around the corner," Jane hissed but Dot was already halfway past her, hurrying after Nora Aberville. Their plan, forged over a cup of tea in the Robinson's kitchen yesterday afternoon, was more than simple: they would follow the nurse on their morning walk with little Tommy and find out where she was truly headed. Well, it had been easy in theory, but Miss Aberville walked the way she lived: completely erratic. Once or twice she had just barely missed walking in front of a cart with her pram in tow and Jane had to hold her friend back from charging at her and firing her on the spot. Now they were racing down another road and realised where they were headed.

"The park?" Jane asked, not bothering to hide her disappointment at this less than thrilling conclusion of their chase.

"She did say so," Dot pointed out, spying around another corner to where girl and pram were just disappearing behind a row of trees.

"Yes, but thieves aren't supposed to be honest," Jane pouted.

"We don't know that she is one just yet," Dot answered absent-mindedly, before running across the road, almost being hit by a cart herself if her friend hadn't grasped her arm just in time.

"Do be careful," Jane scolded. "I don't want to explain to Hugh why you were run over while spying on your nurse."

Dot hummed agreement, but hurried on into the park. A couple of chattering women walked past them, greeting friendly, but there was no sign of either Tommy or Nora. She turned on the spot, thinking unladylike words that she wouldn't express, especially not in front of Jane.

"Over there!" the girl panted, already on the move again. Dorothy couldn't see anything, but followed her all the same. Behind a tree she caught up, staring at where indeed Nora had halted, bent over Tommy's pram and talking to the little boy.

"Shall we see if we got anything, little man?"

Apparently her charge agreed to this, as she stood, trailing her eyes up and down the path. The two sleuths pressed themselves against the bark, holding their breathes. They weren't spotted.

"What is she up to now?" Jane whispered, as Dot spied around the corner, giving herself a headache by straining her eyes.

"It's strange... she's fumbling around on the tree trunk."

"What? Let me see."

Dot was shoved out of the way by an impatient friend and moments later Jane was glued to a spot she had stood in, hugging the tree in order to see what Nora was up to.

"She's reading," she mumbled.

"Reading what?"

"It appears to be a letter of some kind."

Dorothy frowned.

"There was no mail for her this morning."

"I think... she pulled it from the tree trunk."

The two girls looked at each other, both confused.

Nora smiled in the distance before shoving the letter into her pocket and retrieving another envelope from it. She let her eyes sweep over the area again, forcing her followers to retreat. When they dared peek again, she was already halfway down the path.

"Lets have a look," Dot hissed when the nurse was almost out of sight. With their eyes glued to the back of the retreating Miss Aberville, they approached the mysterious tree and found a small hole where Nora's arm had disappeared moments earlier.

"A secret hiding place then? Maybe she leaves the jewellery here."

"Exciting," Jane grinned, her fingers venturing into the cave just to be withdrawn a moment later with a disgusted sound. "It's damp in there," she protested.

"What did you think the inside of an old tree would be?" Dot asked with some amusement. The girl shrugged, sticking her hand back in and retrieving an envelope which had suffered a little bit under the mistreatment of being shoved into a dark hole.

They huddled over the letter.

"_Dear stranger, It seems hardly fair that you will not tell me who you are,"_ Jane read aloud. _"__You use such sweet words, yet, as my father told me..." _

Dot's frown deepened.

"A love letter to a complete stranger? That is ridiculous."

"And so very romantic," Jane sighed.

"She doesn't even know the man. How can she write him sweet nothings?" Dot protested. "A man who is too much of a coward to step forward and ask her to go out with him can only be a cad."

Jane tilted her head.

"If I remember correctly, you had to invite Hugh to the Policemen Ball yourself," she grinned. Dot was enraged by this implication.

"He was being shy, not a coward. Just like your Harry."

Jane huffed at this. She had still not gotten a hold of her sweetheart, had by now been informed that he was out of town. He hadn't said a word of being away.

"Surely he's just trying to woo her before approaching her," she stated wisely, returning the letter to where she had found it.

"Either way that doesn't help us figure out if she is a thief," Dorothy sighed, sitting down on a bench. She was starting to feel the strain of doubting someone she was meant to entrust her son to.

"I wouldn't say that," Jane said, sitting down beside her. "What if the necklace wasn't stolen at all?" she grinned.

Dot's mouth fell open.

"You mean..."

Jane nodded. "A gift presented by a secret admirer, trying to reveal his identity?"

Dorothy couldn't help the relieved grin spreading over her features.

"We had better drop by the bakery then and deliver a letter."

X

Phryne let her reading material sink onto Jack's chest.

"So, Vos was right, Harper was trying to move the railway station away from Woodend. No wonder Packard was furious. He would have to fear for his business."

Jack picked up the protocols again.

"Nobody but Packard and O'Neill seem to be worried about that though. In fact, Torres and Ferguson appear to very readily mould their ideas to his in the continuation of this discussion."

"Odd," Phryne stated under her breath.

"Not if they wanted the new railway line to happen," the Inspector mumbled. He looked up and found his wife staring at him curiously.

"Well, obviously Harper was stalling. He was going to use his influence and money to convince people. And the easiest way to get him to agree to_their_ plans was to give him what he wanted. Ferguson and Torres don't seem to care much about where the train line would run, only that they would get one."

"To what purpose though," Phryne pondered aloud. "They had no land to sell as Harper did, and no hope for more guests coming to Woodend like Packard."

"That is the question," the Inspector stated calmly, slapping the folder shut before stretching out in bed. He felt rather content. He had managed to investigate without getting dressed and currently was considering a break from the case to take advantage of the convenient lack of clothing his wife provided. But Phryne had other ideas, fishing for the document again.

"There must be some clue as to what they were up to," she grumbled, flicking to the last page and starting to read again. Jack's fingers gently stroked her shoulder. There was something near irresistible to a sleuthing Phryne. He wasn't certain if it was her brilliant mind or her excitement that made his heart beat faster but he never tired of watching her do her magic. Right now, however, he wished she would pay a little more attention to him. His thumb trailed over her breast and she shot him a warning glance.

"The last sentence is odd," she finally breathed, just when his hand reached her navel. Jack sighed, but removed his fingers from her in order to grasp for the offered protocol.

"_The matter shall be discussed further after-_"

"It's Monday's date," Phryne cut in, giving him no time to finish. Jack frowned.

"Racing Day? That can't be a mere coincidence."

"Especially considering Ferguson's reaction to Mrs. Harper's win," Phryne added. "A man of his prejudices standing up for a female champion struck me as suspicious straight away."

The Inspector bit his lip.

"That makes a whole lot more sense if he really needed the Harpers to win, rather than Luke O'Neill."

"You think they may have forged a little bet away from the field?" Phryne asked, positioning the folder onto Jack's nightstand.

"A wager to decide the fate of this town? Doesn't sound like very faithful politics to me."

"Which fits the description of most of the men involved perfectly. Do you believe Grace Harper knew what she was riding for?"

"Maybe. It would explain the risk she took in order to decide the race for her husband."

"But not why Aidan was furious about her decision."

"True."

Phryne let the folder sink to look at her husband, who had wrapped the sheet around his hips, baring his chest to her in the late morning light. A small bump near his heart reminded of another of his close brushes with death. She tore her eyes from it with some difficulty and instead concentrated on the soft curls, slowly trailing her fingers through them until she reached one of his nipples. Jack watched her, his breath held, as she leaned in to press her lips to it, continued to pepper small kisses to his chest and stomach. Her fingertips followed his side, brushing the sheet from him, then she stopped in sudden hesitation.

Jack, who had endured her gentle caress with his lashes closed, opened them to enquire after her change of mind.

"Am I going to hurt you?" she asked, aiming her eyes at him in question. He had to think a moment about her meaning, then shook his head with a small smile.

"Not unless you intend on repeating the treatment," he whispered hoarsely, pulling her into a kiss.

"That would be more than silly, considering I am very attached to those parts of your body," she returned, her exploring hand aiming to prove her fondness.

"I am excessively glad to hear it," he murmured, squirming underneath her touch while his own hand slipped up her thigh. They sank into another kiss, losing themselves in it while Phryne wrapped her leg over his hip, joining them without any build up. Jack groaned in surprise and for a long moment neither of them moved, as they lay, feeling their hot breathes brush over their faces, his palm warm and heavy in her back.

Then Jack's hand moved, stroked along her spine, trailed up her neck before gently drawing along the lines of her face with his fingertips. An artist painting his masterpiece.

Phryne would have been terrified by his thoughts in this very moment, but there was nothing that could compel Jack to share them with her.

"What's on your mind?" she whispered, her blue eyes huge from this distance. A tiny smile spread over his features.

"That I am a happy man."

"You are a terrible liar, Jack. You hate this case and this town."

His smile broadened.

"This holiday has not quite played out as hoped. But that doesn't trifle with my happiness, Miss Fisher."

His hand had stilled, his fingertips lying tenderly against an artery in her neck where the lifeblood pumped in even beats against her skin.

"Thank you," he whispered in sudden resolve. A frown appeared on her features.

"What for?"

Instead of an answer he brought his lips to hers, his tongue demanding entrance that was granted. His taste never failed to sweep her away and when he moved his hips against hers, drawing a soft moan from her throat as his arms carried her through the gentle morning, she forgot to ask further after the meaning of his words. She didn't have to. Deep in her soul Phryne knew that he was saying goodbye.


	37. Chapter 36: The Greatest Punishment

**Chapter 3****6****: The Greatest Punishment**

A couple of men were arguing in the hall by the time the Detectives finally made their way downstairs. When they noticed their company, they fell instantly silent while still glaring at each other.

"Mr. Benini!" Phryne exclaimed in a delighted tone as she sashayed towards the handsome jockey. Jack watched the scene with some amusement but stayed back to have a quiet conversation with Rosemary Wilson.

Once he might have felt jealousy at her batted lashes and her sweet smile but these days he could tell that they were an act. Phryne used the Honourable Miss Fisher when she needed her. Mr. Benini seemed unable to notice the difference as she was babbling about their meeting years ago and the Inspector wondered briefly if she had taken him home back in the day. He guessed it didn't matter.

"And Mr. Torres, I believe?" she purred, turning towards the other man, who watched the scene with an equally fake grin. They greeted each other like two tigers on the prowl and Jack felt a cold shiver run down his spine. Luckily Phryne didn't waste much time on the man and returned her attention to her old acquaintance.

"You just must have dinner with us tonight, Mr. Benini."

He seemed for a moment embarrassed.

"I am most terribly disappointed, Miss Fisher, but I was just about to leave," he explained with a glance at Wade Torres. "Business calls and Melchior is already on his way to Melbourne as we speak. But please do call when you are back in town. I would _love_ to refresh our acquaintance."

He actually winked at Phryne before the men took their leave and the Inspector had trouble keeping his attention fixed to the very lovely face of the young Mrs. Wilson as he witnessed the blatant flirtation. Of course, Phryne had failed to mention that she had gotten married since their last encounter for good reason, so he would restrain from barging into the conversation like a jealous bull.

He noticed that Rosemary's eyes were following the back of the two men as they retreated with a shake of her head.

"Some men are just shameless."

"So they are, Mrs. Wilson. But then who am I to blame a man for falling under my wife's spell?" he smiled, happily accepting the pen he had asked from her before they had started chattering. She pulled her bright red lips into a pout before, with an expression of embarrassment whispering:

"This doesn't bother you?"

"Not in the slightest," he grinned, thanking her for help and retreating before she could attempt any more inspection of his marriage. He caught up to Phryne outside, where a wave of hot air greeted him.

"Any luck?" he asked.

"I couldn't hear as much as I'd hoped, but they were arguing about money. It appears Mr. Torres refused payment for services he wasn't satisfied with."

"Like winning the race?"

"That would be a very obvious conclusion, Inspector," she grinned, taking his arm and steering him back into the cool rooms of the hotel. "But I did noticed something else when I shook Mr. Torres's hand," she smiled as they crossed the hall towards the dining room. He waited, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of showing his curiosity – much to Phryne's annoyance.

"You don't want to know what it is?"

"I'm certain you will enlighten me before you burst, Miss Fisher," he grinned, pulling out a chair for her at the lunch table. She pouted for a moment, but then he wasn't wrong.

"He has a scar running across his thumb."

Jack nodded.

"We have found our mystery visitor then?"

"So it appears," Phryne smiled, watching Mrs. Tattler approach the table. "But that still leaves the question what he was doing there."

The Inspector didn't get a chance to answer as the owner of the hotel arrived by their side.

"Rosemary informed me you wanted to speak with me?"

"Please sit down, Mrs. Tattler, this will take a moment," Jack requested. He couldn't help but notice that the lady looked rather flustered, but she obediently sank onto a chair.

"I am sorry to appear rude, but we had a little shock in the morning..."

Phryne waved her off.

"I fear we have a confession to make, Mrs. Tattler. As it happens we broke into your kitchen last night."

She stared with her mouth open, looking from one to the other."

"We were starving and decided to help ourselves to some food. Of course we will pay for any damages," Phryne continued, ignoring Jack's embarrassed expression and Mrs. Tattler's gaping.

"But... the office?" she asked.

"That on the other hand was a masked intruder," the Lady-Detective explained happily. "We gave chase, but he escaped."

Fefe Tattler shook her head.

"What on earth could he have wanted in there? I keep no money, only paperwork."

Jack finally felt the need to push in.

"I wouldn't dismiss a possible connection with the murder, Mrs. Tattler."

"You mean to say the murderer broke into my house?!"

She seemed to edge slowly towards hysteria and Phryne took her hand, trying to calm the woman down.

"It is a possibility. But he certainly wasn't out for any more victims. He resolved to... incapacitate my husband in order to stop us from pursuing him."

The Inspector bit his lip at her recount of the events and silently begged the hotel owner to not ask any further. Luckily she gave up with a confused frown.

"We had better let your father know, Inspector," she addressed Jack instead. "He has been going through the mess since earlier this morning, trying to find any clues."

"That at least takes care of _his_ entertainment," Phryne grinned, unfolding the napkin on her lap. Jack's mouth twitched in amusement, even as the rest of his face asked her to behave.

"Maybe you'd be so kind as to update him on the matter, Mrs. Tattler," he requested. "And let him him know that we will join him after lunch. Unless of course he can be convinced to interrupt his investigation to take some food."

The spouses shared a grin across the table. John Robinson seemed to enjoy the spot of policing a little too much to believe that he was doing it merely for their benefit. Fefe Tattler agreed and took their order before leaving, when she was almost knocked off her feet by a flustered Grace Harper.

"Is Luke here?" she asked without any greeting. "He's disappeared!"

"I haven't seen him since yesterday," Fefe said, shocked.

Phryne rose, approaching the young woman and nodding for Mrs. Tattler to leave. She would take care of things. The elderly lady seemed to be more than happy to escape. By the time the door closed behind her, Jack had joined his wife.

"What happened?" he asked.

A complicated gesture in the air answered him.

"Luke didn't return home last night. The O'Neills believed him to be at the police station, but Ferguson sent me here..."

Grace was panting heavily, as she stumbled out a recount of her worried dash through the neighborhood. Phryne glanced at Jack.

"He left here yesterday evening, insisting he walk home," the Inspector explained. "He seemed to have a lot on his mind."

Phryne shivered, remembering Jalboo's words: that Laura O'Neill feared her son might follow his mother on the Rock some day. Finding that one's whole life had been a lie right after stumbling over one's brother's body might easily provoke a rash step.

"We had better go search for him," she decided, turning to Jack and expecting to see him ridden with guilt, but was surprised when instead he said calmly: "I think that might not be necessary."

X

The smell of warm bread hung in the air when Dot and Jane stepped into the bakery. The baker's wife greeted them with a knowing grin.

"Will it be bread or men today, Miss?" she asked Dorothy, who already felt herself blush furiously before a word had been spoken.

"Men," Jane said firmly. "We are looking for Mr. Boyle."

She was eyed curiously for a long moment.

"You seem a tad young for him," the lady concluded. "But either way, you are out of luck. It's Paddy's day off. Now, would you like some bread instead?"

The girls looked at each other, both disappointed.

"No, thanks," Dot decided, before a grinning Jane added: "But we could do with an address."

X

John huffed at the message he had received from Fefe Tattler. So he had wasted his time in the kitchen. But the chaos in the office was still enough to keep him occupied for another two hours at least and by that time he rather hoped that his room would be unoccupied.

The faster they managed to find this damned murderer, the faster he could leave Woodend and all flashbacks of warm, female skin behind. His memory of last night's events was still rather shoddy, yet enough pictures had returned to cause his ears to burn in shame and embarrassment. The worst part of it was that he really wasn't certain who had started it. They had been talking and drinking and talking more... and drinking more... until... John squeezed his eyes shut. There was no point in remembering. Whatever had happened last night, it had been a horrible mistake and Miss Green would have to agree with him there. Surely she had woken in the same confusion and horror and would be avoiding him for the rest of his stay-

"Good morning," a voice said behind him. "I trust you slept well."

He spun, clutching a folder to his chest for protection. Amilia Green stood in the door, grinning at him in a way that made him realise that she was not confused at all. Her voice was completely unreadable, but something about it told him that he might end up at the sharp end of a kitchen knife if he wasn't very, very careful. John cleared his throat. He would ignore her innuendo and simply pretend nothing had happened.

"Not as well as you, it appears," he heard his mouth say, which had obviously not been paying attention to his resolve. To his utter horror she came closer.

"You overestimate the restfulness of your company, Mr. Robinson."

He took an involuntary step backwards.

"I..." He swallowed dryly, glancing at the open door. "I had rather not mention this... encounter to my family."

Mia raised an eyebrow at her.

"If you believed I intended to barge into the dining room and announce our drunken mishap to the world, you are sorely mistaken," she quipped, taking another step closer before pointedly fishing a notebook from the table right beside him. John held his breath in order not to inhale her scent. A part of him that he had successfully ignored for several years announced protest. Despite himself he had to admit that he had missed the proximity of a woman – even if it was Mia Green.

"It wasn't such a grand event that it is in dire need of announcing," she murmured before retreating, snapping him from any warm, fuzzy thoughts and slamming the door shut. Angrily John stared at the chaos surrounding him, before shoving at a pile of folders which, to his satisfaction, poured onto the floor in an avalanche of papers.

X

The white picket fence seemed a somewhat odd view in the middle of bushland. It wrapped around a small, run-down cottage, trying to protect it from the wilderness - with limited success if the state of the building was any indication.

Grace climbed out of the Hispano in some wonder.

"I haven't been here in years," she explained. "But we used to visit old Mrs. Winchester here often when we were children. She would share cake with us and tell us stories."

With some fondness she inspected the old house and the front yard, where amongst weeds one could still guess the remains of a once beautiful cottage garden.

"Someone has painted the fence," she finally stated. Jack nodded from where he was standing, leaning against the car. Phryne joined him a moment later. Despite him being strangely mysterious, she had a fair idea why he had brought them here.

"Someone has done a whole lot more," the Inspector stated calmly, opening the gate for the two women. It became apparent on approaching the building. New window frames had been fitted, rotten boards in the veranda repaired. The old house wasn't a beauty just yet, but someone had spent an awful lot of time and effort in making it habitable again after many years of neglect.

The Inspector knocked at the front door, but to no avail and they resolved in wandering around the house. Under the shade of an old tree sat Luke O'Neill, his legs outstretched, his hat pulled deep into his forehead. He was currently peeling a knife through a piece of cheese while the rest of his lunch was laid out upon a handkerchief in the dry grass. Somewhat aside from her owner, Mary was rubbing her neck against a tree bark. The intruders stopped, Grace openly gaping, Phryne quietly smirking at Jack. So this was what he hadn't told her about his conversation with their murder suspect: the lack of alibi provided by an old house.

A creaking board drew the farmer's attention towards his visitors. If he was shocked by their intrusion, he didn't show it, but his eyes briefly locked with the Inspector's. Then he got to his feet and met Grace halfway as she approached him.

"Is this your doing?" she asked. He shrugged.

"It seemed a shame that Mrs. Winchester's cottage would fall prey to time," he explained. "And as my parent's are in the best of health and will hopefully remain so for a long time to come, I was hoping to have a house of my own someday."

"Does that mean you are staying?" Grace asked, unable to hide the emotion in her voice. But to her utter disappointment, he shook his head, fishing his half-finished lunch from the ground and wrapping it back into its handkerchief without looking at her.

"I obtained this place years ago, when I had hoped for my life to run a different course."

The course he had been desiring wasn't a secret to either of the Detectives who were watching the scene from the back veranda. Phryne sensed frustration welling in her chest at Grace's blindness to what her friend was not telling her. But then, the woman was freshly widowed, this was not a train of thought she could be expected to entertain. Jack's fingers grasped his wife's as if he had read her mind, stroking a calming circle on the back of her hand. He had more trust in patience than she had.

Grace meanwhile watched her friend return to the inside of the small cottage in confusion.

"So, why have you decided to do it up now?" she asked, following him. He walked past the two Detectives without a greeting and this time his annoyance with Jack's inability to keep quiet was plainly obvious. The Inspector suppressed a grin.

"Because I have sunk all my money into this place," he explained in an aloof tone of voice as they arrived inside and he returned his attention to the stonework around a fireplace. "And I must sell it in order to survive in the city. I can hardly ask my parents to give up their living for my new start."

Grace watched him work in silence, his muscles flexing underneath his shirt as he stirred up some mortar. He still wouldn't turn and look at her.

Grace truly wanted to ask why he had never told her, but then he had been withdrawing for some time without her seeming able to close the distance and right now he appeared in no mood to open his heart to her. So instead of bothering him further she went exploring, admired floor boards and carved details which were still raw and unfinished. Mrs. Harper had enough imagination to know that the house would in time be stunning. She remembered how much she had loved the cosy little cottage when she'd been a girl, in difference to the old winery her grandfather had built, in which the draft never seemed to stop in the middle of winter.

And in contrast to the huge farmhouse she'd inhabited with Aidan where half the rooms were only entered for dusting and the occasional entertainment of guests. Suddenly the idea of Mrs. Winchester's cottage being sold to a stranger seemed completely unbearable.

"What would you say if I wanted to buy it?" she asked, spinning on her heels. Luke froze in the middle of balancing a stone, which dropped with a loud clatter onto the floor, before he turned towards her.

"You have your farm to worry about," he said, after a long moment of breathless silence. Grace shrugged.

"So what? In all probability Packard is going to make every attempt at turning me out of my house. And the piece of land that by right is mine after Aidan's death is not far from here."

Luke frowned.

"I believed the house to be part of your dower?"

"It is. But then all the other buildings are not. I don't think I can be blamed for not wishing Packard as my constant neighbour?"

A small grin accompanied her words that he couldn't resist joining into.

"I could sell the house, preferably to someone Packard hates with a passion." Her grin broadened at the idea. "And take this from your hands. It will be beautiful once it is finished and seems much more fitting as the home of an old maiden."

On the last words her smile faltered. Phryne who had followed the conversation from the veranda door had a hard keeping herself from storming the room and beating some sense into both young people, but Jack's hand tightened his grip on hers. Completely oblivious to the spouse's struggles, Luke approached his old friend, touching her shoulder in a comforting gesture.

"You will not stay lonely for long," he promised her, his voice rough. A pair of translucent eyes looked up at him.

"I cannot see how," she explained. "I wont recover from this and I could never bear marrying a man for convenience."

Luke simply nodded. Jack gently pulled his wife backwards as he felt her muscles flex, preparing for an unbidden intrusion. This had nothing to do with them. In fact the two friends seemed to have completely forgotten about their presence.

"They say broken hearts heal," Luke explained. .

"Do you truly believe that?" Grace asked, her fingers playing with a wooden border.

"I know better."

She looked up at him in surprise when she noticed the change in his demeanour and realisation took her breath away. She touched his face, just when he was about to retreat and he couldn't escape as much as he wanted to. Grace looked at him long and thoroughly and for once Luke endured it without pulling away.

"Who is she?"

His eyes snapped wide open, his feet willing to flee, but instead he just turned away, realising that they were still being watched. The farmer scowled at Jack, who in turn stared at Grace in unconcealed surprise. She could not be this oblivious, could she?

"Who is what?" he asked coldly, returning to his work.

"The woman who broke your heart?" she asked, breathlessly. "It all makes sense now, your odd behaviour. You running away to the city-"

"Nonsense!"

Luke didn't even look up, but his voice was shaking with anger.

"You are spinning something together in your romantic brain, Grace. I am _not_ running away from a woman."

Jack resisted the urge to clamp a hand over Phryne's mouth as he felt her drag a deep breath into her lungs.

"You truly can't-"

"Mrs. Harper, I believe it is time we headed back to town. Would you care to accompany us?" he asked quickly before his wife could get any further. Phryne scowled angrily at him, but he pressed her hand so hard that he must have hurt her, willing her to desist her attempt. This was not the time for romantic confessions he sensed and so did Luke O'Neill, who stubbornly continued spreading mortar on stone. Grace stared for a moment longer at her friend's back before capitulating to his silence.

"Of course, thank you, Inspector," she said weakly before taking her goodbyes from the still quiet farmer. He didn't stop working until they had left. Then he briefly dropped the trowel to wipe the angry tears from his eyes with the back of his arm, smearing his beard in grey dust before catching his breath and continuing his renovations.


	38. Chapter 37: The Essence Of Romance

**Good evening. As I've pointed out on tumblr the other day, I've finally finished writing this story and what a struggle it was. There is still plenty of work to do on it though, so I won't pick up posting speed too much just yet. Thanks for your patience and for still reading. We'll get to the end of this tale eventually, I promise :). **

**Chapter 37: The Essence Of Romance**

Two young ladies down in Melbourne, meanwhile, decided that it was high time for romantic confessions as they knocked at an unfamiliar door. The small house spoke neither of poverty nor riches, Dot had time to establish before the door was opened.

"Is Mr. Patrick Boyle in?" Dot asked. The young woman nodded.

"I'm afraid he is asleep though," she explained.

"But it is lunch time," Jane protested.

"He is a baker," the Lady explained, showing them into the house. "Rising early in the morning. So he can hardly be begrudged for a nap. But I shall wake him directly. Who can I tell him is waiting?"

Dorothy blushed when she realised she hadn't introduced herself.

"I'm sorry," she apologised, shaking the woman's hand, "Dorothy Collins, my friend Miss Ross."

The woman hesitated in the middle of their introduction.

"Mrs. Collins? Not Nora Aberville's employer?"

Dot suddenly realised the glaring mistake in her plan. She swallowed.

"Miss Roberta I assume?" she asked more calmly than she felt. A knowing grin spread over the young woman's face. "How is Nora? She cannot stop talking about how wonderful you are to her and how lovely a child you have, Mrs. Collins. Thommy is such a cute baby..."

Dot felt like she was losing ground rapidly as the woman went on. Nora hadn't been wrong about fondness of talking.

"The reason we are here," she finally cut in, deciding to not share their discovery of the secret letters, "is the necklace you have lost the other day."

To her surprise the woman frowned.

"What necklace?"

"A small locket with your brother's picture," Jane threw in helpfully.

Roberta shook her head slowly.

"I don't possess any lockets," she explained somewhat confused. "And if I did, I certainly wouldn't put Paddy's face in it," she added laughing. "There is someone whose picture I would much rather carry close to my heart."

Jane decided that it was time to involve the man in question before she could tell them everything there was to know about her sweetheart.

"Miss Boyle, would you be so kind as to wake your brother, please?" she demanded calmly. "I feel we should get to the bottom of this mystery."

The woman bustled away, leaving them in a small sitting room and the two girls shared an exhausted look. This was much harder work than they had anticipated.

"It _must_ have been Patrick, dropping it into the pram," Jane whispered. Dot nodded.

"An awkward way of presenting a gift," she hissed.

"What did you expect from a man whose idea of romance is shoving notes into a tree?" Jane grinned, just before a tired Paddy Boyle appeared, still busy tidying his clothing.

"Mrs. Collins," he gasped. "What brings you here? Is Nora all right?"

Dot grinned.

"She is perfectly fine," she assured him, accepting the note from Jane's hands, "But this seems to have been left for you in a tree. Would you happen to know anything about it?"

They would later agree that the baker's bright red face as he accepted the offered letter, made their coming more than worth the trouble.

X

They did not head back to town but instead to Harper's farm, where they left Grace at her doorstep with the promise of continuing their conversation later. Currently the Inspector didn't trust his wife to resist the temptation of playing cupid and decided to distract her with their case. It was high time they interviewed the farm workers.

In the stables, rubbing down a grey farmhorse they had never seen before, they found a young man who introduced himself as Jason Miller. The conversation was short. He explained calmly to have seen his employer come home late in the afternoon in company of a man he hadn't recognized from afar and since he had heard of Harper's temper tantrum at the race had decided to stay far away from both, busying himself with some repair work that had to be done in one of the barns. He remembered having been woken late in the evening by Grace Harper in search for her husband, but had been unable to help. The Detectives didn't fare any better with the other men until they talked to Clyde Brovic, an elderly man who told them in great detail about 'Evening Wind's' murder, which seemed to interest him more than the demise of the man he had been working for for many years.

"You know, a man who can kill a horse might just as well kill a man," he mumbled, chewing on a piece of tobacco while brushing dirt from some boots. Jack thought briefly of Doyle. But there was no motive.

"Did you see your employer that night?" Phryne asked.

To her surprise, the man chuckled.

"I did, I did. He was three sheets to the wind, he was and very angry. Had a bit of temper, the boy. Think his wife had had just about enough of him."

"You witnessed an altercation?" Jack asked.

The man nodded.

"But then he argued with everybody that night. Also with Mr. Torres, who'd brought him home. I guess they'd been to the pub together, but they were yellin' so loud, I could hear them out in the yard. Couldn't make out what about though."

The Detectives looked at each other.

"Are you certain it was Mr. Torres?"

"Yeah. Stormed off in a huff after bout fifteen minutes, and good riddance to him. Then Harper's wife came back and they slammed some doors in the stables and later that black guy showed up, who works for the O'Neills, I always forget his name, Jimmy, Johnny or somethin'."

"Jalboo," Phryne corrected automatically. Clyde grinned.

"Think he was lucky Harper was too drunk to throw him out of the house. If ya ask me, he killed him. Never saw him leavin' and ya know..."

"Know what?" Phryne asked sharply.

The worker shrugged, continuing his work.

"They're wild, ya never know with them," he mumbled.

"I believe it to be better if you leave the suspicions to us, Mr. Brovic," Jack explained coldly. "Was there anything else you'd noticed that night?"

The man seemed oblivious to the offense they had taken and chewed loudly while he thought.

"I saw a car parked down on the road," he finally offered with a shrug. "A fancy one. Red like the sin."

X

The young man was wringing his hands on his lap, but stayed completely silent. The two sleuths watched him from where they sat patiently on a rather uncomfortable couch.

"Mr. Boyle?"

"I didn't... I mean..." He looked up to where Dot's kind eyes were fixated on him. "Can we talk somewhere else about this?... Please?" he whispered, still loud enough for his sister to hear, who appeared, very unconvincingly, to be engrossed in a book.

"Now that's just unfair," she protested, dropping all pretence of not listening. "If you were sweet on Nora, why didn't you say so?"

"And have you blurt it out to her at the very next possibility?" Paddy asked hotly. "Everybody knows you can't keep your mouth shut for long enough to draw a breath!"

Roberta Boyle recoiled. It was hard to say if she was merely sulking or indeed hurt by her brother's words, but either way Jane felt sorry for her.

"Why does it even have to be a secret?" she demanded. "Miss Aberville might reciprocate your feelings."

Patrick huffed at this.

"You know Nora, don't you? She is... perfect. She could have any man she desired. Why should she be inclined to marry a baker?"

Dot swallowed down a nasty comment lying on her tongue. Surely everybody was entitled to their own opinion. Mr Boyde wasn't paying attention to her as it was, his eyes had glazed over as he spoke of his beloved, staring far into the distance.

"So I've decided to woo her properly..."

"By shoving letters into a tree?" Dot asked calmly. Paddy's head snapped up, woken rudely from pleasant day-dreams. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"In the beginning I've just copied love poems and such and sent them to her house. But her mother became suspicious."

Roberta nodded.

"Nora got into a lot of trouble over you," she accused. Her brother hung his head in shame.

"My friends and I used to hide notes in the park when we were children and we didn't want our parents to know. So, I asked her to find my letters there instead. After two weeks I discovered an answer from her."

He smiled fondly in memory and Dot couldn't help but join in. But she felt Jane fidget beside her on the sofa.

"So, the necklace...?"

Paddy cleared his throat, flushing again.

"I thought... Well, she was getting rather insistent on me revealing my identity. . I thought a gift might soften the blow..."

Roberta laid the book aside, obviously having forgiven her brother.

"I had no idea you were such a romantic, Paddy."

Dorothy didn't share her notion, she drew a deep breath into her lungs.

"And it didn't occur to you for a moment that people would think it weird to have her produce jewellery that they'd never seen before?" she asked pointedly. The Boyle siblings gaped at her.

"No, it hadn't," Paddy admitted.

Jane grasped her friend's hand, rendering her silent. Admitting to the suspicions they had harboured would probably not find applause in this house.

"Or that she might not piece things together if you just hide something in Thommy's pram?" she asked instead.

Three pairs of eyes looked at her. She shrugged.

"It's a bit of an odd sort of courting, isn't it?"

Paddy dropped his eyes to the floor.

"I'm not really good with those things."

Roberta laughed.

"Nonsense. I have not a girlfriend who wouldn't be happy to step out with you, Paddy. You are a natural at charming them."

"That's not the same thing," her brother argued. "Charming just any girl is easy. But charming Nora... is not."

I fear it's time you learned it, Brother Dear. And in a hurry. Before she looks through your strange performance as her secret admirer."

Patrick looked from one woman to the other, sighed and admitted his defeat.

X

"Well, this was definitely a new experience," Miss Fisher smiled as they crossed the yard. "I don't think I enjoy being a suspect in my own murder case."

"Despite looking so good in handcuffs, Miss Fisher," Jack whispered, as he opened the door to the main house for his wife. She simpered while brushing past him.

"Behave, Jack."

"If you insist."

It was odd really, Phryne thought as they followed the dark corridor to the kitchen where they had been advised they would find the Lady of the House. His mood had changed from gloomy to perfectly serene. As if he had just accepted whatever fate held for them.

She on the other hand would _not_ accept it!

Once again she wondered why she was so very certain something was about to happen. It was true, she had always relied on her instincts, yet she was certainly neither paranoid nor had she ever considered herself a clairvoyant. Which really only left the conclusion that Mac was in her diagnosis that she was losing her mind. But Jack felt it too - she had sensed it earlier. In this very moment she hated him for being too stubborn to run from an unknown threat. She'd have begged him if she thought there was any point to it.

"You all right?" a whispered question was directed at her. She found herself sitting at a kitchen table, a cup of tea in front of her with not the slightest memory of how she had gotten there. She needed to pull herself together, Phryne realised. This would not do.

Jack's eyes rested on her for a moment longer until she shot him a strangled smile that convinced him to return his attention to Grace Harper, opening a familiar folder for her.

"Do you know anything about this railway line your husband had proposed?" he asked. Grace sighed.

"I do. Quite a few people were trying to talk him out of his idea," she explained.

"What did you think of his intentions?" Phryne asked, when she noticed a shadow crossing the woman's face.

"I had to disagree with them. Aidan's plan was selfish and obnoxious. Some of our friends feared for their livelihood and they weren't being as paranoid as he liked to think them."

"Was anyone particularly worried?" Jack asked.

"Well, most of the business owners, of course," Mrs. Harper explained. "Nathan Packard was fervently against it, I believe your father and daughter witnessed them arguing about it the other day."

Jack nodded.

"But Ben Winters, owner of the 'Shamrock' was also far from thrilled. And Mrs. Tattler and her daughter of course. The 'Queen Victoria' would certainly suffer if travellers would pass by Woodend. I believe even Miss McFryer feared for her corner shop, despite it being mostly frequented by locals. And Steve Vos was very reluctant about the railway leading right through his vineyard..."

"So, nobody was particularly happy about this plan?" Phryne asked into her explanation.

Grace shook her head, cradling her cup between her hands.

"Nobody but Mr. Ferguson and Mr. Torres. They supported Aidan in his stubbornness. To be perfectly honest, I was fighting the urge to strangle them every time they would start talking to him. He was like a different man then."

"It seems odd that they would support your husband's plan against their friend Packard's explicit wishes," the Inspector thought aloud. Grace laughed bitterly.

"I don't think Ferguson cares much for Packard's feelings. He expects him to fall in line when the time comes. According to rumour his butchery is close to bankruptcy as it is. Then again, he has nothing to worry about any more now, does he?"

"Because he will inherit your Station?" Phryne asked, chewing on her lip.

"Unless the O'Neills decide to fight him for it," Grace answered. The longing in her voice didn't go amiss on either of the Detectives and they shared a look.

"As the nearest male relatives Packard and Pete O'Neill are the first in line?" Jack asked after a moment of silence. Grace only nodded. One could have heard a pin drop as the wheels spun in the Detective's heads.

"So if, say a brother would speak up, Packard would get nothing?" Phryne asked before Jack could stop her. Grace frowned at her strange train of thought.

"If Aidan had a brother he certainly would have to be more agreeable than Nathan Packard," she smiled thinly. "But sadly that is not the case."

The widow sighed deeply, pulling herself to her feet.

"I do have to go. There is a mountain of work as long as the farm is still mine and I've spent half of the day worrying myself sick about Luke. Was there anything else I can help with?"

Jack was about to rise, when suddenly something occurred to him.

"Just one more question, Mrs. Harper. In case of your husband's demise... The rights to his projects would also go to whoever inherits the station?"


	39. Chapter 38: Life Is A Dream

**Because it's Phryday and five am and I have nothing better to do. Enjoy. **

**Chapter 38: Life Is A Dream**

Phryne watched from the edge of Sergeant Ferguson's desk as Jack finished drawing the last crooked line across the the map.

"So those are the propositions," he mumbled. "If we are right and they gambled this decision on the outcome of the race, that certainly explains why Ferguson embraced Grace Harper's victory. But now, of course, those plans are thwarted by Packard's inheritance."

"Or O'Neill's, if he decides to set them straight."

Jack shook his head, as he leaned against the desk, just close enough to feel a hint of her warmth.

"He won't. He'll protect his parents."

"Even if it means that Grace is having to give up her living?"

"She would have to do that either way and if he'd inherit her Station that would leave her at his mercy. That's a situation he couldn't handle," Jack explained, crossing his arms over his chest. Phryne glanced at her husband.

"So, he'll just allow her to lose everything. To protect his pride?"

"It's not about pride, Phryne. It's about love."

Jack's eyes were two dark, swimming lakes of grey and she wanted to touch him, understand him. He frowned in concentration as he tried to elaborate, his hands playing with his pencil.

"Luke O'Neill is an honourable man. He won't allow himself a confession of love because she is Harper's widow. And he will certainly do nothing that could bring her into his power. His feelings are strong. Too strong to trust himself and he couldn't live even with the suspicion of having forced her hand."

Phryne turned her attention back to the lines on the map, pulling her lips into a pout.

"And when have you turned into such an expert on love, Inspector?"

Jack glanced at her with a fond smile.

"Do you have to ask?"

He held her gaze and Phryne's fingers sought his arm, trailing a gentle touch along his biceps which he could just barely sense through the layers. A throat was cleared behind them. They spun.

"Mr. Doyle?"

The man nodded nervously.

"Inspector. Ferguson asked me to come see him at the Station."

"He's not in right now, but do have a seat," Jack explained, pointing at a hard wooden chair across from the desk. Doyle sat down awkwardly, laying his hat onto his lap.

"Look, is this about Aidan's murder? Because I don't know anything."

Jack smiled the briefest of smiles.

"No, no, Doctor. This is still about 'Evening Wind'. You killed him, didn't you?"

Alexander Doyle swallowed visibly.

"I thought... It was Harper's idea." The Veterinarian noticed two pairs of eyes staring at him and added: "But I did help him."

Phryne trailed her fingertips over the edge of a folder in a most seductive manner, distracting the man's attention.

"When was this plan forged, Doctor?" Jack asked, watching the man breaking into a sweat.

"It was Saturday afternoon." Doyle pinched the bridge of his nose. "Aidan wanted to frame O'Neill, so he asked me how a 'horse murder' could be accomplished. I foolishly went a long with it, but I didn't know that he was going to go through with it."

"That's a lie if ever I heard one," Phryne smiled grimly, crossing her legs. "And you know, a man who could kill a horse might just as well kill a man."

Doyle gaped, then faltered.

"All right. All right." He rubbed his hands together nervously, looking at the Inspector as if he hoped him to come to his rescue. But Jack naturally had no intention of the kind and so he gave in.

"It was me. My idea, my morphine, my knife. The horse was hurt, Aidan had pushed him too hard and then asked me to fix his precious stallion, but I am not God. I don't do miracles."

"So you decided to slaughter Evening Wind instead and blame O'Neill? To what purpose?"

Doyle sighed deeply.

"Harper wanted him out of the race and... out of Grace's life. I pointed out that he could use this mishap to get something good out of it. But I _swear _I had nothing to do with shooting Aidan!"

Phryne leaned back, measuring the sweating man with a tiny, satisfied smile. This was easier than expected.

"There was also some insurance fraud involved, wasn't there?" Jack asked calmly from where he was standing with his arms crossed. Doyle paled even further.

"Please... I barely make a living as it is," he gasped. "If this comes out I will lose everything."

The spouses shared a look.

"Mrs. Harper has already fixed the little 'misunderstanding' with her husband's insurance company," Phryne pointed out, waiting for the man to exhale before she continued: "But this might be a great opportunity to tell us the truth about the race."

X

"Mr. Robinson! Have you found anything the intruder might have been after?"  
The friendly question startled John, almost causing him to fall off the chair he had drawn up to retrieve some folders stashed on top of a cabinet. Instead a pile of paperwork crashed down, stirring up enough dust to send him into a coughing fit.

"Nothing of consequence, Mrs. Wilson."

The young woman sighed.

"What a mess."

"I can stop if you'd prefer," John grumbled, carefully climbing to the floor with an armful of files that dated back to over a decade ago.

"Oh, don't be silly, Mr. Robinson. I'm sure all this is necessary to find what the culprit was after. But please come to the library for some tea, you must be starving."

John listened to his stomach for a moment, which was indeed growling it's protest to the lack of breakfast or lunch. His nausea had worn off about an hour ago, the headache was about to follow it into oblivion. He hadn't drunk that much after all, he guessed. But still enough to... Never mind. It didn't bear thinking about it any more. Miss Green was apparently more than willing to erase the past night from her conscience and who was he to argue with a lady?

To his surprise he found his son and daughter-in-law in the library and in heated discussion.

"You'll have to admit that Packard has every motive under the sun to rid himself of his nephew."

"But even he can't be stupid enough to leave the motorcar parked in front of his own house afterwards." Jack rubbed his hand over his face as he kept pacing. "It's too easy."

His wife shrugged.

"Maybe it is an easy case, Jack."

"If anyone cares for my opinion..." John waited until they had both turned towards him before continuing "...I doubt that Mr. Packard would have broken into the office looking for incriminating evidence while at the same time leaving such an obvious trail."

Phryne chewed on her lip.

"That is definitely a fair point. And if he was in possession of the murder weapon he would probably have used it for more than..."

She made a vague gesture that left John frowning in confusion at his suddenly flustered son.

"He lacks imagination," Phryne smiled, slipping to her feet and accepting a tray of tea and sandwiches from Mrs. Wilson, who withdrew after a moment of friendly and meaningless chatter. Jack sighed.

"Surely anyone who has two braincells to rub together has thrown the gun into the river by now," John pointed out, taking a sandwich. Both Detective's hummed approval to this.

"We still will have to question Mr. Packard," the Inspector decided.

"If he _is_ being framed, there is nothing new he could tell us and I honestly feel no desire for his company. A friendly chat with Mr. Torres might prove much more fruitful. He has been arguing with Harper that night and when it comes to their little barter he's also had his dirty fingers in the jam pot."

Jack ran a hand through his hair as he looked at a smirking Phryne nipping on her cup, then nodded.

"You are right. I will go alone to talk with Packard."

She started, opening her mouth to protest.

"No discussion, Phryne, I don't want you anywhere near the man."

Jack frowned at his own words in the knowledge that he had made a mistake. This was not the way of conveying concern for Phryne and getting her to actually listen. And indeed his wife tilted her head, confused and obviously annoyed. But there was also something else mixed into her expression that he couldn't quite pin down.

John wasn't oblivious to the stubborn stare that was exchanged between the spouses. He cleared his throat after swallowing down the rest of his bread.

"I'll go with you. I'm more than keen to finally make the personal acquaintance of your main suspect. And I could do with a bit of time outside of this office," he added after a moment's thought. Phryne met his eyes briefly and understood. He was going to look after Jack.

She had every intention of protesting. Surely he couldn't seriously expect her to stay behind just because he told her to! But she was also incredibly tired and the idea of letting someone else worry about Jack for a little while was utterly tempting. Her husband was still looking at her, obviously ready to defend his position.

"All right," she smiled, pulling herself to her feet and revelling in the look of disbelief she received. "I'll be here then, reading..." she turned, pulling a random book from the shelf. "...about 'The Productive Breeding of Sheep'".

Jack cleared his throat, unable to suppress a grin.

"That should be highly educational, Miss Fisher. In fact I am looking forward to you recount."

"I'll demonstrate," she whispered, as he leaned in to kiss his wife with John pointedly turning his back.

"Are you coming, Father?"

John threw another look at his daughter-in-law before leaving. She was smiling in a absolutely fake manner and pale as the wallpaper, which thankfully wasn't floral down here. Phryne waited until the door had shut behind the two men before she let both, the book and the smile sink. Carefully she placed her reading material on the table, snuggled into the armchair and closed her eyes.

X

"This is not the time to be a coward, Paddy!"

The young man had allowed himself to be dragged down the path to the Collin's house with little resistance but now he brushed his sister's hand from his arm.

"I am _not_ being a coward!"

"What would you call it then? Hiding behind anonymous letters is hardly heroic."

He stopped, glancing at the two grinning girls who had followed them through the front yard and now stood, watching the scene.

"I can do this on my own!"

She opened her mouth, but he pressed a finger to her lips.

"No! I love you, Bobby, but you are not going to propose for me to Nora. I can handle it."

He threw a pleading look at Dorothy, who thought it finally time to step in.

"Come, I believe we should give them some privacy," she said, grasping for Roberta's arm.

"But what if he-"

"He can handle it," Jane said, taking her other arm and dragging the protesting girl towards the gate. Patrick Boyle watched the retreating women before straightening his back and approaching the door. Just when he lifted his hand to knock, it opened and Nora Aberville stood in front of him, smiling. His gaze dropped to her neck. He barely resisted the urge to run.

X

A soft warm summer breeze, grass underneath her naked legs. Phryne stretched and lifted her face to the sunlight.

"No scary backdrop today? Am I to assume that you have given up on frightening me?"

Jalboo grinned loudly without showing his face.

"It was never my intention to frighten you, Miss Fisher." There was silence in which a bird warbled.

"But you _are _scared?"

She bit her lip.

"I am... I am also informed it is common to be scared for a loved one."

He didn't answer and she suddenly felt the need to tell him. "It might be my greatest mistake, loving him."

A pair of dark eyes measured her. Phryne stared into the distance where an old building ducked between the trees. She was certain she had never seen it before.

"Love is never a mistake, Miss Fisher."

"I'm too close to see the threat. All I see is him." She finally looked at the man beside her, trying to make him understand. "He is going to die because I can't see past him."

"He was already dead when you met him."

Phryne dragged airs into her lungs, feeling tears rise in her throat as she came to terms with his meaning.

"It's very rare that another human being touches a man so deeply that he changes forever," Jalboo continued thoughtfully. "And very precious."

There was silence. She glanced at him, explored every line in his face, every hair on his head, wondering if he was right. Had she truly left such a deep impression on Jack? The answer was undeniable, clear and sharp like a glass knife. She sucked another breath through her teeth.

"They say a happy man has no reason to be scared of death," Jalboo added as if reading her thoughts.

"I wouldn't bet on it," she hissed, her anger returning. He didn't answer, only smiled briefly at her and the oncoming rage dissolved. It would have been rather silly to be mad at him. For a while it stayed quiet, a soft breeze dancing playfully over the grass, which was of a much greener colour than she remembered.

"I've been wondering," she finally said as casually as possible, digging with her toes in the ground. "Did you love Evie?"

He shrugged.

"Of course I loved her... Like I love the grass and the trees and the clouds..."

There was a long pause, in which he pondered this statement.  
"Truthfully there are no words in this language to express her importance and I am not going to attempt it."

"You climbed the Rock for her," Phryne pointed out what had occurred to her in the last night while lying awake and listening to Jack's breathing. "Despite the spirits you might disturb."

His smile returned, mixed into melancholy, then faded again.

"Such is the nature of love, Miss Fisher. It causes cowards to become heros and good men to do things they would have never considered themselves capable of."

Touched by his sadness she took his hand, ignoring the inappropriate nature of such a gesture. It was only a dream after all. Jalboo's eyes fell on their entwined fingers, her almost white ones against his dark skin. He seemed surprised but didn't retreat.

"How can I save him?" she asked after a long moment.

He smiled thinly.

"Why do you think I should know? I couldn't protect Evie."

Phryne swallowed.

"But you saved Luke."

His eyes were huge and dark and shimmering with three decades of unshed tears.

"You might say it was worth the pain, Miss Fisher."

Her lids fluttered open, the library appearing in front of blurry eyes.

"That's the second time this week, Annie, you need to be more careful with the oven!" a faint voice scolded someone in the nearby kitchen. The subtle smell of burning wafted through the open window. Phryne focused on where the branches of a tree blocked her view of the summer sky and tried to memorise every detail of her dream. She wasn't sure why it should be important, but there was no doubt that it was.


	40. Chapter 39: Fate Loves The Fearless

**Before I fly out to Melbourne tomorrow I'll leave you with another chapter. I'll think of you while stumbling around on Hanging Rock and who knows, I might meet the one or other of you at the Gala. The rest of you: Be brave. :) **

**Chapter 39: Fate Loves The Fearless**

Nora watched the young man she had known most of her life, pace the Collin's parlour, wearing her employer's carpet thin.

"What is it, Paddy?"

He made a gesture that could have meant anything.

"The locket," he ground out. "You are wearing it!"

She dropped her eyes guiltily to the offensive piece of jewellery.

"I thought..." she said, then slipped her fingers to the back of her neck. "Forgive me, I thought it was a present."

He stormed to her, all but ripping her hands away from the clasp she'd been about to open. "No, no, no, it was..." He dragged a deep breath into her lungs, then released her wrists and pulled himself back upright.

"Since when have you known?"

"That you are the man writing me letters?" she asked. "Pretty much from the beginning."

He started, then continued pacing.

"And you never felt compelled to say anything?"

Nora shrugged.

"I thought you enjoyed your little game."

He ran a hand through his hair, completely dishevelling himself. Miss Aberville pressed her lips together in amusement.

"You wrote me back," he accused. "You made me feel guilty about not telling you who I was!"

Now she couldn't help it any longer. She burst into a broad smile, showing the gap between her teeth. He had to avert his eyes so his courage wouldn't leave him.

"I was waiting for you to make a move," she admitted.

"I was saving," he ground out, fastening his steps. "I am almost ready to buy a house now. It wouldn't do, living with my mother and sister and I didn't know..."

He stopped, when he heard her giggle.

"Yes," she said, rising.

Paddy stared at her in confusion.

"Yes?" he echoed.

"Whatever you wanna ask me, Paddy, the answer is 'yes'."

He opened and closed his mouth like a stranded fish.

"Does that mean...? I mean..."

She rolled her eyes at him.

"Ask," she urged. He straightened like an obedient schoolboy, wet his dry lips.

"Nora Aberville, will you be my wife?"

She grinned.

"About time you ask, Patrick Boyle. And the answer is still 'yes'."

He shook his head in disbelief. It was too easy!

"Are you playing with me?" he enquired suspiciously when she stepped closer. Instead of an answer she kissed him.

"I guess that means you are not," he ground out once he could breath again. She just shook her head, her smile lighting up all of his field of view.

"No, Paddy, I am not."

And that was the last sober moment of their discussion.

X

The two policemen, meanwhile, had little luck on finding the person they were looking for. Mrs. Packard, a nondescript woman who seemed to care as little for her husband as she cared for the lamb carcass she was hacking to pieces as they spoke, had informed them that he wasn't home and that no, she hadn't heard Harper at their door in the night of the murder.

So, instead of interviewing Packard, Father and Son decided to drive to the North of town where Mr. Torres had made his home. Jack had briefly contemplated inviting Phryne along but something about her sudden withdrawal had caused him to reconsider. Her exhaustion was undeniable – and while she would never admit to it, he was fully intending to give her the rest she longed for.

The Victorian house fitting their address stood out in it's street like a sore thumb. It wasn't in bad taste, far from it. Indeed the Inspector rather liked the look of the two-story building with it's playful balconies and bay windows. It merely had fit better into St. Kilda than Woodend.

"It appears I followed the wrong career path," John grumbled, climbing from the Hispano and stretching his legs.

"I'm actually getting rather curious about what exactly Mr. Torres's occupation entails," Jack answered calmly, already on his way to the front door. A young maid answered, considering the two men with visible confusion. Jack kept his introduction short, he didn't need spread unnecessary rumours.

"Mr. Torres is currently seeing to another guest," the girl explained, looking flustered. "I will enquire if he is available."

Just then the loud yelling of two arguing men sounded from the garden.

"It appears we found Mr. Packard after all," Jack quipped while he pushed past the maid.

"We'll find the way ourselves," John explained quickly, rushing after his son. The girl's eyes followed them with her mouth agape.

"I won't go down for you, I swear!"

Nathan Packard stood with his back to them, shaking in rage. Wade Torres looked a little green around the gills and a moment later Jack realised the reason for the fear in his eyes. His friend was aiming a pistol at him - one the Inspector recognised in an instant as an item he had been searching for.

"I might have to reconsider my statement about those braincells," John mumbled under his breath as they moved closer, avoiding to startle either man.

"Packard, drop the gun," Jack called when he felt he couldn't get any closer without risking Torres to be shot.

"He's trying to pin Harper's murder on me!" the butcher screamed. "But the bastard's not gonna get away with that."

"I haven't killed Harper!" Torres spat. "Why would I?"

"Because if he's not building his stupid train line, your business expansion is going up in flames, ain't it!"

"Shut up," the other man hissed in a tone of voice that was not quite fit for a gun aimed at one's head.

The clicking of the safety being taken off visibly dampened his confidence.

"Why don't you both come down to the station with us, Mr. Packard, and you can tell us everything about your friend's business and his involvement in the murder?" Jack tried calmly, edging closer. He damned himself for not having taken Phryne's revolver. After last night's events he really should have been more careful.

Out of the corner of his eyes he spotted John bending after a rather sturdy looking piece of wood. But Torres's eyes flickering towards the movement gave him away. Packard spun, madness written all across his face and Jack gulped as he realised that his target had changed.

"Back off or your son's dead!"

Obediently John let the log fall back to the ground and took a step backwards with his hands raised in what he hoped was a calming gesture.

"Easy, Packard. We don't want anyone else to die," he said, trying to keep his voice from cracking.

"You don't tell me what to do, copper!"

"Calm down, Nathan, you are going to get us both killed," Torres hissed behind him.

"They don't have guns," Packard pointed out, taking a step closer to his target who stared at him unmoving. Jack could feel the blood pounding in his ears. So this was it then.

"Do you, Inspector?" Packard taunted.

Jack briefly squeezed his eyes shut; licked his dry lips; pondered how to play this. Admitting that he was unarmed was bound to be a mistake but then so could be lying. Nathan Packard was in a very bad mood and there was no telling how he would react to either.

"They don't, but then I _do_," a friendly voice stated calmly, causing the men to start. A woman casually stepped into Jack's field of view, aiming a golden gun at Packard's head. Jack felt relief flood his veins despite the barrel still pointing at him. "And I'd recommend you drop your weapon right now if you are attached to that sad excuse of a brain," Phryne growled, walking closer.

"I'll shoot," Packard spat, his finger flickering over the trigger. Phryne desperately clutched onto her calmness, trying to not look at Jack's stony face. Despite his displayed calmness she could feel his fear.

"Don't kid yourself, Packard. I can see your hands trembling. _Drop it_!"

"She's a good shot," John pitched in breathlessly. "You'd be dead three times before you'd ever get to pull that trigger."

"Don't be stupid, Nathan!"

Packard eyes flickered wildly from one man to the other, the Inspector utterly quiet, waiting for the dice to fall, his father bright red with the effort of stopping himself from attacking the man who was aiming a pistol at his son's face. Phryne found herself holding her breath as she waited for his decision. She knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that she would shoot Packard if he pulled the trigger, no matter if he missed or not. But from this distance even a terrible shot... She didn't dare think further. Against her will her glance slipped towards Jack, who sensed her attention and for the briefest of moments their eyes met. Packard's hand was shaking as he tried to come to a conclusion in the silent stand-off and Phryne grasped the pistol harder, bracing herself, racking her brain for something that could sway him.

"There is still time to go down to the station and explain everything," the Inspector said suddenly, calmly, letting his hands sink to his sides. His wife stared at him in surprise. For a moment longer there was breathless silence, then the gun arm edged downwards. Jack took a quick step towards the butcher, disarming him without any resistance before he dared to gulp some air into his lungs.

"Jesus," someone puffed. The Inspector turned towards where John was holding onto a tree branch in order to keep himself from collapsing as the tension flooded away.

"Would you do the honours, Inspector?" Phryne asked, throwing some handcuffs at her husband. He tilted his head at her as he snatched them out of the air. He truly had no idea how she managed to keep this hotchpotch in her tiny handbags - but he was certainly not complaining.

"I told ya, I didn't kill Harper!" Packard protested as his arms were grasped in no gentle manner.

"You just threatened to shoot a police officer in front of three witnesses," Jack stated grimly, closing the irons. Ignoring Packard's loudly voiced opinion on the matter, John took the pistol from Phryne's shaky hand and waved his chin at Torres, who was busy berating his former friend for his incredible stupidity.

"If the Gentlemen would be so kind as to come along to the car," he demanded in a tone that promised trouble. Torres opened his mouth to protest but realised in time that that was currently a_ very _bad idea.

"Of course, Mr. Robinson," he answered instead smoothly.

He threw a glance at the two spouses before following John and his prisoner to the house. Once the threesome had disappeared, Phryne allowed herself to let the mask slip. She closed the gap, framing Jack's face with both her hands.

"Are you all right?"

"What are you doing here, Miss Fisher?" he asked instead of an answer. "I thought you were enthralled in the breeding of sheep?"

"The read couldn't hold my attention," she quipped, relieved tears shimmering in her eyes. He gave into his longing and hugged her tightly to himself.

"I can't say I mind that you lost interest in farming already, Miss Fisher. The sheep might have never recovered from your influence," he whispered beside her ear, breathing in the scent of her hair and feeling the tension drain from his limbs. She felt too exhausted to even roll her eyes at his half-hearted joke.

Letting go revealed itself to be a challenge but after they had stood wrapped up in silence for almost a minute, Phryne gently retreated, remembering the three men waiting in the car. Jack's offered his arms as they made their way towards the comfortable sitting room they had never gotten time to appreciate.

"Miss Green told me that you had asked for Torres's address," she explained while they crossed the hall.

"And you felt left out?" Jack asked smiling while holding open the door for her.

"I couldn't bear to miss all the excitement," she quipped, batting her lashes. Before he could express his gratitude for her inability to tame her curiosity, they were interrupted by the young maid. She glanced briefly at where Wade Torres was sitting in the back seat of the Hispano with the grim expression universally shared by people being taken to a police station.

"I was wondering, Sir..." she stumbled out, "...is Mr. Torres going to be home for tea?"

The Detectives looked at each other. Then Phryne smiled grimly.

"I wouldn't hold my breath."


	41. Chapter 40: Little White Lies

**Back from Melbourne, exhausted, excited and a head full of memories. Hanging Rock was amazing, the MFMM Gala wonderful and the people I met incredible fun. In other words, it's way too early to sort through it all. So, time for another chapter to calm the nerves. Enjoy. **

**Chapter 40: Little White Lies**

"Show me your hands, please, Mr. Torres."

The man looked confused but after a moment's staring match he turned his palms for the Inspector to see. Phryne grasped his wrist and held the thumb straight. Jack nodded. She had seen right.

"You were drinking with Mr. Harper the night of his demise," the Inspector stated.

The man leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I accompanied him home from the pub. He insisted I stay for another glass."

"What were you arguing about?"

A frown appeared on the man's features.

"What makes you conclude that we were?"

"A witness heard you, Mr. Torres."

For a moment their suspect was silent.

"Harper was quite drunk."

"So you thought it a good idea to share more alcohol with him?" Phryne quipped. Jack threw her a long glance while Torres scowled.

"Harper was a stubborn guy; if he wanted to drink he would drink, with or without me."

Jack drew a deep breath.

"I assume you didn't argue about whisky, Mr. Torres."

The man shrugged.

"I don't recall. I believe it was about the race. He wasn't happy about his wife breaking the rules and even less about her win. I tried to convince him of embracing the victory rather than stirring trouble in his marriage."

"Of course you weren't too concerned about Grace Harper's win, since it meant you'd get your railway line?"

Phryne couldn't help but revel in the brief second that Torres's smooth mask dropped and made room for shock. The man cleared his throat and found his composure a moment later.

"I don't understand..."

The Inspector smiled grimly.

"It's too late for denial, Mr. Torres. Dr. Doyle was so friendly as to confirm our suspicions on your little wager."

The scowl he received left no doubt about the man being little pleased by this, but he caught himself quickly.

"I admit that the way it came about might not seem particularly faithful. But the railway line is going to be good for Woodend and that is all that matters," he explained smoothly. "Sometimes the end justifies the means."

"Even though you intended to remove the station from town?" Phryne asked. Again the man's composure faltered only briefly.

"The exact nature of the plans was still being discussed..." he stated vaguely.

Jack straightened his back as he remembered Packard's angry exclaim earlier.

"Had Harper changed his mind?"

Silence fell while Torres considered his options. Then he nodded.

"You caught me, Inspector."

He smiled a smile that sent a shiver down Jack's spine.

"We were arguing about his sudden consideration to drop the project altogether. Of course that would have been devastating after all this time of planning and discussing."

"Of course," Jack echoed.

"But now you don't have to worry about that any more, do you?" Phryne asked.

Torres contemplated her words.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, now Packard is going to build the train line – after his plans, but that doesn't really matter all that much, does it?"

"True." The man looked like he would have liked to strangle the Lady-Detective if it wouldn't have been a dead give-away. "But I am not certain how that it of any consequence?"

"Very simple, Mr. Torres," Jack said calmly. "You have just given us a motive for murdering Aidan Harper."

X

Dot unlocked her door very, very carefully. Being Miss Fisher's maid had taught her that it was dangerous at times to walk in on two lovers and and considering Nora Aberville's particular ability to annoy her, she somewhat feared the picture that might greet her in her house. Jane knew no such restrictions. She brushed past her friend into the parlour, where a very happy and slightly dishevelled Nora sat on the couch.

"Oh God, you have no idea what happened!" she exclaimed, forgetting that she barely knew Jane and jumped to her feet to grasp for her hands. "The most wonderful thing."

"Do tell," Dot encouraged from the door, little Tommy in her arm, who seemed awfully animated and tried to struggle free from her grasp in happiness. But to her surprise, Nora started, slapping a hand in front of her mouth.

"Oh dear, I completely forgot to go to the market. I am terribly sorry, but I was so excited and then I tend to forget things, Mrs. Collins. Please don't be mad..."

Dot grasped her shoulders, shaking her out of her profound apologies, holding onto her patience by a thin thread.

"The news, Miss Aberville!"

Dot felt she would explode if she didn't find out soon what had happened, especially since she couldn't give away her own involvement in the matter.

"Oh, yes." A smile like a rising sun spread over Nora's face and Dorothy remembered Paddy's words about her beauty. She really was rather pretty when she smiled. "I am engaged to be married, Mrs. Collins, can you believe it?"

The dam was broken and words spilled like a waterfall from Miss Aberville's lips at a speed that made both girls dizzy. When she had finished all three sat on the couch, Jane holding onto a Tommy, who commented on the events with happy little sounds while doing his hardest to fall off her lap.

"...he even has found a date already and it's going to be the 5th of March."

The girls shared a look over Nora's head.

"That's very soon," Jane pointed out slowly.

"Yes, yes, isn't that amazing," Miss Aberville exclaimed.

"Well, we are going to have to figure out what your plans are in regards to working here," Dot said, in as neutral a tone as possible.

"Paddy would like me to stay home," the nurse explained somewhat sheepishly, catching on. "We've been talking all afternoon. We want children very soon and with him required to rise so early I would barely see him if I was to keep working for you."

"Oh," Dot made, holding on to neutrality. Of course it was most inconvenient to lose a nurse so quickly. Especially since Tommy was getting rather attached to her. And naturally she would be sad to see Miss Aberville go, now that she wasn't a thief at all. She let the breath stuck in her lungs escape very carefully to avoid showing too much relief. She was certain it was decent to feel happiness about someone getting engaged. In fact she would telephone Hugh. And the Robinsons. As soon as possible. But for the time being she would listen to the fifths repetition of the exact words Patrick Boyle had used, even though they had changed with every version into something more poetic. The poor man would listen to it for the rest of his life and that comforted Mrs. Collins somewhat over her deep disappointment.

X

The Inspector slammed the door shut and barely missed his wife who had ducked out behind him. Sergeant Ferguson looked up curiously from where he was filling a report.

"We are going to have to let him go," Jack stated, making a annoyed gesture with his hands, "we have nothing."

Someone rustled in one of the two small cells in the back wall. A few exclaimed swearwords pointed to Packard not being particularly happy with this conclusion.

"Do you believe it was him?" Ferguson asked. Jack shrugged. He could hardly explain to the other officer that the man simply made his skin crawl and he felt every urge to lock him away for that simple reason. It wasn't exactly professional. The phone rang and to both men's surprise, Phryne picked up, sweetly announcing to the caller that they had reached Woodend's police station.

"I don't know, Sergeant, but I do like to have enough time to get my facts together," Jack continued quietly, without taking his eyes from his wife. "And something about him is off. What exactly does his business entail? He is very vague on that account."

It was the Sergeant's turn to shrug.

"He is trading in antique furniture, I believe. Owns a shop in High Street. I have never set a foot in it personally."

Jack hummed unhappiness. It seemed a very harmless explanation to something that felt mysterious and, dare he say, dodgy.

"Has our friend Packard stuck to his explanation as to why he was in possession of the murder weapon?" he changed the subject

"He insists that he found it in his front yard," Geoff explained, handing him the report. There wasn't much to be said there. "An unlikely story."

"It is," the Inspector agreed. "Surely a normal person would not fish a gun from his bushes and then use it rather than hand it in to the police. Especially when they are already a murder suspect."

"With all due respect, Sir, we are talking about Mr. Packard here."

The pair of eyes looking at Jack were absolutely sincere but nevertheless he couldn't help the suspicion that there had been a joke. He clapped the young officer on the shoulder, glancing at Phryne, who was still in whispered conversation.

"Right you are. In fact, Ferguson, I believe I have a job for you."

He had barely time to explain his request before Phryne rung off and jumped from the edge of the desk.

"That was Mrs. Harper," she said. "It appears she has found something of interest."

"We had better head out there then," Jack smiled, already fishing for his hat. Somehow things felt as if they were finally moving. "You know what to do, Sergeant?"

"Sir."

The young officer grinned.

"Oh, and before you leave you might want to let Torres go and give Packard some tea. Since he is going to be our guest for some time, we wouldn't want him to starve."

Neither the Inspector nor his wife reacted to the creative string of cursing following them out into the afternoon.

When they approached the hotel they spotted a grumpy looking John Robinson, having a breather on the fresh air.

"I suspect he has still found no trace," Phryne whispered with a grin. The retired officer had only hesitantly returned to the Wilson's office rather than join into the interviews with the suspects. It wasn't exciting policing as such, but it needed to be done.

"Have you told him about the council protocols?" Phryne asked. Jack nodded.

"But surely the intruder couldn't have only tried to hide their wager?" he pondered aloud. Phryne hummed.

"Only if they felt it revealed their motive. For my taste, Torres is a little too interested in this railway and so is everybody else."

They arrived at the entrance before they got any further into their discussion.

"Any news, father?"

John snapped out of his dark pondering, looking confused for the briefest of moments.

"Nothing that would inspire excitement. It appears though that quite a few people were against the railway line," he explained. "I found a whole folder of letters from businesses pleading with the council to reconsider. Including Mrs. Tattler and Mrs. Wilson."

The Detectives nodded. That wasn't news to them as such.

"Anyone particularly aggressive in their pleads?" the Inspector asked after a moment of thought. John shook his head.

"They are all disgustingly polite about the matter."

Phryne excused herself from the two men to head upstairs and change her shoes. She hadn't paid much mind to them in the morning and now lived to regret her poor choice. The heels she wore weren't made for dashing about and certainly not for the numerous traps a farm provided.

In the hall she was greeted by Iris and Rupert, who seemed on their way to the dining room for some afternoon tea.

"Oh, Phryne," the other woman waved her over with some enthusiasm. "I was wondering where you had disappeared to." She didn't wait for an answer and urged the Detective to follow her into a quiet corner while her husband retreated, giving the two women some privacy. "I've been burning to thank you for your advise," Iris whispered, just out of earshot of Robert Wilson, who stood behind the desk, enthralled in his work.

"I figured you might have taken it to heart," the Lady-Detective smiled, feeling smug. "You seem rather content since yesterday and so does Rupert," she explained.

"Rupert is a good man," Iris smiled fondly, before her features darkened a tad. "But so was Christian and I feel we should give him a proper send-off. Do you think Jack and yourself could pencil it into your schedule later this afternoon? In about two hour's time?"

Phryne hesitated for a moment. She hadn't been to any funerals in years and truthfully they weren't her favourite activity. Especially not when she had never met the deceased. But then, this was what family was about, wasn't it?

"Of course," she smiled thinly. "I'd be honoured and I am certain we can find time."

"Unless someone else dies in the meantime, naturally."

The women shared a grin, while Phryne's stomach twisted. Loud voices tore her from her dark thoughts.

"It is hardly my fault that he still contemplates to close us down!"

"I am not blaming you!" Rosemary exclaimed, grasping for her husband, who was about to turn on his heels and retreat. She caught his arm and he stopped. "But you need to talk to him," she urged.

"There is no talking to him, you know that as well as me, Rosemary."

"Try," she pleaded. A deep shadow crossed Robert Wilson's face.

"I'm sorry I've let you down," he said, "I truly am." He pulled himself free and left his wife standing in the hall, appearing lost. The two women in the shadows traded a look.

"What was that about?" Iris asked.

"I have not the faintest idea," Phryne answered. "So far they seemed rather harmonious."

She barged out into the open before the other woman could utter another word and approached Rosemary, who had switched her smile back on. Iris joined into the seemingly relaxed chatter but as much as the women tried they couldn't seem to draw anything from their host. When the Inspector finally entered the hall to enquire after his wife's delay, Iris stayed behind with the unspoken promise that she would chase down the reason for the fight.


	42. Chapter 41: Everything But Temptation

**Chapter 41: Everything But Temptation**

They found Grace Harper outside, leaning against a fence, where she was watching Athena and Orpheus play. The horses were galloping over the grass like two foals, while their owner watched on with a fond smile.

"Mrs. Harper?" Jack asked gently, attempting not to startle her.

"Ahh Inspector," she said, without turning. "Aren't they beautiful?"

He nodded.

"They certainly are," Phryne confirmed quietly.

"Aidan liked to keep them locked up," Grace said. "He was worried for their safety. But I feel that they are happier out here, what do you think?"

"I am a firm believer in freedom, personally," Mrs. Robinson explained with a glance at her husband. He just gave her a smirk, changing the subject.

"You said you've found a letter?"

"I did. Well, the remains of a begun letter," the farmer's widow explained, finally tearing herself away from the horses to head back into the house. "I was tidying Aidan's desk and I found a balled up piece of paper. I am certain it hasn't been there on Monday morning, considering I emptied his paper bin shortly before leaving for the race."

The Detective's looked at each other in surprise.

"Is it written in your husband's hand?" Jack asked. Mrs. Harper nodded as she lead them through the sitting room into a tiny nook holding the farmer's desk. Someone had already attempted to smooth out a crinkled note. Jack waved off Mrs. Harpers attempt to hand him the letter and instead picked it up himself. Phryne leaned into his shoulder to get a better look, while Grace Harper embarrassedly played with her fingers.

"I don't..." she finally begun, taking a deep breath. Phryne had thought she had sounded a little strange on the telephone but now it became rather obvious that she was having a hard time dealing with what she'd just found out about her husband's state of mind on the day of his murder.

"Would you please leave us alone for a moment?" the Inspector asked her, seemingly oblivious to her crumbling composure.

"Of course."

After the widow had disappeared, he let the letter sink.

"Remorse," Phryne stated. "He wasn't only considering to cancel his railway plans. He was about to apologize to Luke for his betrayal."

"_I cannot help but suspect that you may have been her a better husband..." _the Inspector read again, finding it hard to breath in face of the pain jumping at him from every line.

"Do you think..."

"That it was suicide?" Jack finished her thought. "Not unless his name is Houdini. Shooting himself in the chest before letting the murder weapon disappear and then show up in Packard's yard seems to lie in the realm of impossibility."

"Unless someone else took the opportunity to move the weapon," Phryne considered aloud.

"Which means that person would hold a grudge against Packard. That really narrows down our pool of suspect, Miss Fisher."

She rolled her eyes at his sarcasm while he pondered further.

"On another note, I believe Mr. O'Neill's infatuation with Mrs. Harper might be rather undeniable after this letter. And her late husband's knowledge of it."

"She won't confront him," Phryne stated calmly, snatching the letter from Jack's hands and folding it up before realising that he was still watching her with curiosity. "You might be able to predict Mr. O'Neill's hesitance, Jack, but trust me on the behaviour of a woman in her situation. She will try to ignore it. He is her friend and about to leave town, she has nothing to gain from the truth."

"Aside from his support and ongoing devotion," Jack stated dryly. Phryne spun with a cheeky smile, now standing too close for him to move away from the desk.

"And there I thought you were waiting patiently for love to run its course," she whispered, playing with his tie.

"Even my patience isn't infinite, Miss Fisher," he gave back, gently removing her fingers before his knees could go weak in the middle of Harper's sitting room.

"So what do you propose, Inspector?"

He straightened the silk tie before he answered.

"I propose that we resist the urge of getting involved for the time being and have a closer look at those thwarted railway plans."

She tilted his head, as his idea became clear.

"Are you feeling up for another rough ride then, Jack?"

He smirked.

"I've had plenty of training, Miss Fisher."

X

Iris waited until Mrs. Wilson had finished pouring her tea and moved away from her table.

"I can't believe you wouldn't tell me," she hissed.

"It is hardly any of your business, is it? It's not as if you have ever been interested in our finances before!" Rupert said calmly.

"What is that supposed to mean?!"

Iris' voice might have skipped slightly into hysterical territory at this stage.

"Well, you do live happily of the money I bring home, but have you ever asked how I feel about the newest dress from Paris that you just couldn't resist?"

"Christian never-"

"Well, your first husband would, of course, never have protested your expensive taste! What a shame he is dead!"

Rupert jumped up, throwing his napkin down, just when Mrs. Wilson stormed towards their table, flushed with embarrassment.

"Would you please care to calm down?" she asked quietly. "In respect to our other guests. Your sandwiches will be out at any moment."

"Thank you, I've lost my appetite," Rupert said stiffly. Iris's eyes followed him to the door. There might have been the slightest hint of a wink. Then she returned her attention to the hotel owner.

"I apologize for my husband's behaviour," she said, taking the other woman's hand, so she couldn't escape. "And my own for that matter." She sighed theatrically. "It is incredibly hard to reach him at times, I get desperate."

Mrs. Wilson nodded thoughtfully before, considering that she was unable to retrieve her hand, sinking onto the chair just left by Rupert.

"Don't worry yourself, Mrs. Walker."

She smiled thinly.

"He just shuts me out when there is trouble. I can see it bearing on his mind, but he won't share with me or listen to a voice of reason. Despite him being a wonderful husband in every other regard, that is his weakness."

Iris took a sip of tea before continuing.

"You see, I found a letter in his pocket earlier. We are close to destitute, but do you believe he would have told me? I am his wife, yet he refuses to share such things with me! I am certain your husband would tell you. You are such a lovely couple."

Iris watched as Rosemary Wilson struggled with herself. Of course, discretion was a great part of her occupation, yet she was too honest a person to just nod and smile to this.

"My husband is just the same," she finally blurted out.

"How so?" Iris asked, opening her eyes as wide as they would go in fake surprise.

"I do not know, he's been hiding things..."

She suddenly stood, pulling her hand from Mrs. Walker's grasp.

"I am terribly sorry to have intruded on your time. Maybe you should see after your husband."

She was gone before Iris could even protest. Mrs. Walker swore quietly underneath her breath and finished her tea before retreating to regroup with Rupert and inform him that their plan hadn't worked.

X

"Are you certain you don't just want me to shoot the lock out?" the young Sergeant asked, playing with his pistol. John made an angry noise, while trying another angle.

"A little gun-happy, are we?"

"It's good to be prepared out here," Ferguson explained, while watching the elder man trying to pick the heavy lock.

"And there I thought nothing much was happening in Woodend," John asked, not particularly interested but making conversation all the same.

"We did have quite a few cases of minor crimes."

"Mostly drunk sons not being able to find the door?" John asked, who had been informed of this particular case. The young officer sulked for a moment.

"There were also several robberies over in Mount Macedon," he explained pointedly. "But they do have their own police station."

John grinned.

"Son, trust me, you don't really want the exciting cases. Now you have a murder and see where it gets you? Poking around in a dusty old shop."

Ferguson let his eyes sweep over the busy road but nobody seemed to be particularly worried about the two men breaking and entering. They stepped carefully into the dusty gloom.

"Doesn't look like a goldmine to me," John mumbled, taking a china doll from a lacy pillow and frowning at the cracked features.

"Certainly doesn't warrant Torres's lifestyle," Geoff Ferguson said, inspecting a table that looked more like someone had forgotten it in their basement than an antique. Silently they worked their way towards the back, where a single door led into the rooms beyond. The hall behind it was so dark that they couldn't see the hand in front of their eyes. John grasped blindly for something and ripped open a door. Coughing he realised that he had disturbed the dust in a small office.

"I think Miss Green was right, Mr. Torres does not spend much time in this business," Mr. Robinson stated with a faint hint of pride. "Makes me wonder what exactly he does really for a living."

"So this is a front?" Ferguson asked.

"A shop front, Sergeant," John grinned, picking up one of the folders and ignoring the young man's stunned face at this terrible pun.

"This one's empty."

"So is this one," the Sergeant's voice sounded from the back. "But there is something here."

He picked up a rather faded piece of paper from the floor. John took it from his hands.

"A contract. For buying a shed?"

The Sergeant took it back, squinted at the smudged address.

"I think I know where that is."

"What ya're waiting for then, Son?"

The Sergeant scrambled out the door behind Mr. Robinson. He wasn't exactly certain when the only murder case in his career had turned into a paper chase, but he felt strangely excited.

X

She could feel the warm muscles flex underneath her as Athena moved along the path in a gentle trot. Beside them, Jack was trying to find a rhythm with Orpheus, who seemed not in the mood to slow down to the sedate pace which was demanded of him, yet grumpily surrendered to it. Despite the obvious power struggle, Phryne couldn't help the strangest of feelings as she watched her husband. She had never dared imagine getting him onto a horse until this trip and admittedly, a shaken Inspector riding a nervous Mary hadn't made for the most elegant of pictures. Despite that she had admired his courage in getting onto the filly's back, considering that neither of them had had a good morning.

But today, as the afternoon sun reflected off Orpheus black' coat and illuminated Jack's battered face, she had to admit that his riding skills woke entirely different emotions in her. As if he could read her thoughts, he glanced at her, shooting her the briefest of smiles.

"I hope you've brought the map," he stated calmly. With a roll of her eyes and a grin she pulled the required item from her decollete.

"I wouldn't want you to get lost, Inspector."

It was a much smaller version than the one hanging on the wall at the station, but it was still big enough to make Orpheus nervous as his unusual rider unfolded it on his back and he threw a few slight steps of gallop in there which Jack stopped by a half-hearted tug on a reign. Phryne witnessed this in a mixture of awe and confusion.

"This way," he said, looking up. Phryne tore her eyes from him and gently patted Athena on the neck, who seemed not in the slightest bothered by having swapped the woman on her back.

"I take it, you actually do enjoy riding?" she asked when he didn't seem willing to begin any form of conversation, rather letting himself be carried through the hot afternoon by the calming movement of the horse's limbs. He didn't answer straight away. The hoofs clacking over the dry ground were the only sound for some time.

"I never quite understood the temptation of racing them," he finally stated, not quite answering her question.

"Many people get a thrill from it," Phryne explained, feeling her body swing in rhythm with Athena's legs. "It is quite exciting to see man and beast test their strengths on the field."

Jack nodded and by the way his jaw clenched she could tell there were some unpleasant memories attached.

"Uncle Walter had to shoot Moritz after he stumbled over a root and hurt himself."

"You were on his back at the time?" Phryne asked. Jack shook his head.

"Iris was. I don't think she's ever touched a reign again since."

"And it didn't surprise you that she wanted to come to Woodend for a horse race?"

The Inspector smiled.

"The one doesn't necessarily exclude the other. Hazel has always been terrified of horses, yet she enjoys to watch them race."

Phryne tilted her head at this odd combination. Jack glanced at her, and added: "And regarding Iris I may have suspected ulterior motives."

His wife frowned. She'd never quite grasped the relationship between the cousins. They didn't seem to talk about anything of importance, yet their fondness of each other was hard to miss.

"So, Miss Fisher, how have you learned riding then? Collingwood doesn't seem quite the place," he grinned.

"Believe it or not, it was. Mr. Gruber, our neighbour was selling fruit from his cart in the morning and while he was at his factory job his son would often allow us a ride or two on their mare."

"Surrendering to your charms?" the Inspector quipped.

"Surrendering to my supply of cigarettes."

"And where did you get cigarettes from, Miss Fisher?" Jack smirked, his eyes stubbornly glued ahead, where a eucalyptus forest was covering a mellow hill.

"I may have been involved in some petty theft as a child," Phryne admitted with a smile. "The rich ladies shopping in Smith Street didn't miss them."

"Taking from the rich and giving to the poor. How very Robin Hood of you."

She glanced at him, wondering if she had sunk at all in his eyes due to her brush with crime, but his features betrayed only amusement.

"So far this route doesn't seem reason to spark quite such controversy," she changed the subject back to their task.

"Aside from taking business away from town," Jack stated calmly, as a small, crumbling chapel came into view. A sunbathing blue tongue eyed them curiously from a half fallen wall, but didn't move. Obviously the two riders didn't seem a threat.

The heat was still buzzing, Phryne's blouse sticking to her back which was starting to ache with the unusual sitting position and she was more than happy when they entered the forest where the old, high trees threw some shadow. They didn't rush their horses, even though both Orpheus and Athena seemed used to the uneven territory. Neither of the Detectives was talking, both lost in their thoughts.

"I wonder what changed Harper's mind," Phryne stated. "He didn't seem in a particularly reflective mood when he punched O'Neill in the face or cornered his wife in the stables."

"The threat of divorce might have done the trick?"

"He was arguing with Torres beforehand though. And yet still wasn't very friendly to Mr. Jalboo and that must have been an hour later at least by all accords."

"But he did go searching for his mother's grave."

Phryne hummed thoughtfully at this.

"Which makes suicide rather unlikely."

Jack measured her with a brief glance.

"Surely he would have found out first what he needed to know before taking his own life?"

"True..." the Inspector paused, watching the sun dance over the forest ground. "I guess we will never know what provoked the change," he finally said. "How can anyone know what happens in a man's head?"

"Or a woman's for that matter?" Phryne quipped.

"I believe I've given up deciphering what's on a woman's mind decades ago," Jack grinned, digging his heels in as they reached the edge of the forest. Orpheus didn't hesitate and broke into a gallop, sweeping the Inspector away over the green, rolling pastures. Horse and rider flew over the grass, which seemed to have escaped the scorching sun on this side of the hill, with a feeling of absolute freedom before they felt another couple drawing closer.

"I believe that counts as unfair racing," Phryne puffed when Athena pulled along side the other horse and Jack laughed, pushing his hat deeper as he sped up.

"Don't temp me, Miss Fisher!"

Of course, Phryne couldn't ignore the challenge in the call over his shoulder and she chased after him without a moment's thought. With the wind in her hair and Athena's warm muscles pressing against her thighs, she could almost forget the dark feelings.

But what truly took her breath away was watching Jack, one with his horse, happy, carefree. A side of him she was still exploring.

She caught him again near a water hole where the Inspector dismounted underneath an old, half-dead tree. While Orpheus slowly trotted towards the glittering surface of the pond, eyed by some rather annoyed looking sheep, Jack pulled the map free from the inside of his pocket. Phryne tugged on her reign and Athena halted almost instantly. She was indeed a well-trained horse. The Lady-Detective slipped from her back with some difficulty in what she suspected wasn't a particular elegant movement. Her thighs and back were stiff and while taking her first few steps on solid ground she was rather glad that Jack wasn't watching her.

"Sore, Miss Fisher?" he asked, without tearing his eyes from the map.

"Hardly at all," she lied. "Now, how far did we stray from the route?"

"Not too far," Jack mumbled, "If I read this right, Harper's railway line is supposed to run right over there, along the fence."

Phryne pushed closer, her hand slipping naturally onto the Inspector's back as she compared map and landscape. Fresh sweat was glittering along his neckline, a side-effect of riding a horse in 40 degrees weather, the scent mixing into the remains of his aftershave. She pulled away, not without trailing her fingertips over the curve of his butt, ignoring his sharp intake of breath or the way her stomach went gooey at the sound.

"So where do we head from here?" she asked.

"Northeast, through the vineyards and then towards Newham."

His finger ran over the map, showing her the route he had memorized.

"So we should meet here with Torres's first idea on the matter?" she asked, stretching out her own fingers, their hands brushing together.

"Indeed. I've sent Ferguson and Father to dig deeper into his business while we are away. With any luck we can find something on him."

His voice turned into a rough whisper when he realised just how close Phryne was standing, her eyes turned up at him with an expression he knew.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Miss Fisher?" he asked hoarsely.

"Of course not, Inspector," she smiled, her eyes belying her words as they were spoken. Her fingers were playing with his buttons.

"In that case you should probably refrain from doing that," Jack smiled back without giving any resistance as she took his hat and flung it into the grass.

"Or that," he groaned a moment later when her lips brushed over his neck.

She didn't answer, too busy exploring his fastening pulse with her mouth. After a long moment of enduring her exquisite torture, Jack took her by the shoulders and removed her from himself.

"You are doing a terrible job of _not_ seducing me," he gasped. Phryne simpered at his flushed features while stroking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"I might have to deepen my skills on the matter," she whispered before moving in again for a kiss. Jack surrendered. What did it matter that they were in the middle of nowhere on a pasture that could be overseen from a mile away, watched by two horses and a group of sheep? The sarcastic voice in his head drowned in Phryne's lips and hands as they roamed his body. Pulling her off balance he sank into the grass, Phryne coming to lie on top of him.

"It seems you aren't particularly skilled in fighting temptation either, Inspector" she grinned, before again latching onto his neck.

"Would you like me to work on that, Miss Fisher?"

"Absolutely not!"

Her lips sealed his and he clamped her as close as possible to himself, holding on for dear life. It really did not matter in the least. Pictures were swirling through his mind of long gone moments as he held her, felt her unbutton his trousers. The pain was almost palpable, the pleasure as sharp as a knife's blade, cutting through his stomach as she straddled him.

"Jack," she whispered, causing him to realise that he had been swept away by a mixture of memories and desires and he looked up at her, beautiful like an angel against the bright blue sky, sunlight gleaming on her raven hair, crowning her with a halo of light.

He expected to wake then, but instead she moved, intertwining their fingers and he couldn't do anything but helplessly watch on as she drove him out of his mind, grasped his soul and twirled it between her fingertips until he felt dizzy. He drunk down her touch greedily, like an elixir, a delicious promise of heaven beyond the darkness, the sunspots behind his closed lids dancing like a kaleidoscope of colours and sensations, melting into a moment of ecstasy so overwhelming that he was certain he actually lost consciousness for a brief moment. Her lips brought him back to life and he opened his lashes to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

He could felt every blade of grass underneath his body then, every stone digging through the fabric, every ray of sunlight kissing his skin. But most all, he felt her and he reached out to meld his palm against her neck, felt her blood pump against his skin, her breath filling her lungs in hasty gasps of air and willed her to remember.

Her hand came to stroke a sweaty lock of hair from his forehead while she considered his silent request with a small smile, wondering what was happening in his mind when suddenly her eyes widened in shock and her features turned petrified.


	43. Chapter 42: Fallen From Eden

**Chapter 42: Fallen From Eden**

"What-?"

"Don't move," Phryne hissed, stopping Jack's urge to turn his head to where she was staring past him. Her finger's let go of him, he felt faint movement, heard the rustle of her skirt. Sunlight glittered on a knife as it flew down. Jack drew a sharp breath through his teeth, but the blade barely missed his head and with a sickening sound buried itself into something else. Panting Phryne retrieved her hand with the bloodied knife and he finally dared move, realising that there was a snake lying not seven inches from his head, wriggling. The Inspector's natural instinct was immediate retreat, and he jumped up, ripping Phryne with himself, before he realised that the copperheads skull wasn't attached to the rest of the body any more and had been flung aside with the tip of a knife.

"It's dead," she panted, obviously just finding her breath again. Jack couldn't keep his fingers from shaking as he released her from his embrace and brought his clothes back in order without tearing his eyes from the twitching remains.

"Your seduction appears to become more dangerous by the day, Miss Fisher," he smiled when he was sure his voice would hold enough for a joke. Only then did he realise that her face was of an ashen colour and briefly he feared she might faint again, but then her back straightened and she shoved the blade, blood and all, back into it's hiding place without even bothering to wipe it off.

"I guess it might be wise to listen to Mr. Jalboo's warnings," she stated, turning towards where they had left Orpheus and Athena. "He mentioned snakes during our very first meeting," she added in way of explanation.

"On another note, we seem to be missing a horse," Jack stated a moment later. Phryne chewed on her lip.

"I recall Mrs. Harper saying that he has a tendency to wander off."

Jack swallowed down a curse. He had allowed himself to sacrifice his senses one too many times. Now their rampant passion hadn't only almost killed them, they had also lost Orpheus.

"He can't be far," Phryne decided bravely, leading Athena, who followed her obediently. A sheep baahed it's protest as the Detectives left the water hole behind, turned their backs on the murdered snake still lying in the grass and a memory which would follow Phryne into her nightmares.

They walked in silence, Jack's eyes sweeping more often the ground than usually. He glanced briefly at his watch.

"We will be late for meeting Mrs. Harper. And for Christian's ceremony," he stated. Phryne couldn't honestly say that she regretted he latter. After the most recent brush with death she didn't particularly feel any need to watch a dead man's ashes being spread into the winds.

"I am sure they will be able to empty the box without us," she said, grasping for his hand to soften her words. Jack didn't answer as a silhouette appeared against the horizon. The man on horseback, leading a second animal, flew towards them at speed. When he reached the walking group, his worry had mixed with confusion.

"Inspector, Mrs. Robinson," Luke greeted, a tad out of breath. "Have you run into Grace by any chance?"

"As far as we know she is safely in town, where we are due to meet her in about twenty minutes," the Inspector smiled, realising the conclusions the farmer had drawn upon stumbling across a leaderless Orpheus. "I'm afraid I turned my back on her horse for a moment though."

"We were slightly distracted by a copperhead snake," Phryne grimaced, taking Orpheus's lead from Luke's unresisting hands.

"They are everywhere here," Luke explained grimly, wiping sweat from his brow before dismounting. "I am glad nobody got hurt."

"So are we," the Inspector agreed, suspecting that the farmer was considerably less relieved about missing snakebites than a certain woman who hadn't been thrown by her horse. "I am surprised to see you here though, aren't those Harper's pastures?"

Luke shrugged.

"The border. My father's land starts right behind those trees there, in fact," he explained. "To the North Vos has his vineyard and right there," he made a vague gesture, "lies about an acre that isn't farmland at all."

Phryne held her breath as she spotted an old building ducked between the trees.

"What is it?"

"Woodend College," Luke explained. "A boarding school for young boys whose parents are too rich to keep them home."

Phryne was still staring almost paralysed at the building she had recognised in an instant from her dream.

"I'm surprised you don't know about it," Luke continued casually. "Your host is working there."

"Mr. Wilson?" the Inspector asked, tearing his eyes from his wife's profile.

"The very one. But the new principle isn't to his taste, or so I hear."

"What's wrong with him?"

Luke O'Neill just shrugged. "Nothing I would know about. I've only met the man twice, he doesn't seem the social type. Rumour has it that he has been placed out here by the church and he doesn't enjoy his stay. Too rural."

"There are strange people in the world," a decidedly city-loving Mrs. Robinson smiled absent-mindedly.

"Indeed there are." Luke doffed his hat. "But, I'm afraid I should get a move on, Jalboo's waitin' for me. Do me a favour and bring those two safely back to Grace?"

"We will," Mrs. Robinson assured him as the farmer took his leave.

"Phryne?" Jack asked, when they were alone again.

"We need to get back to town," she said in an upbeat tone of voice. "We are running late."

"So we do," he gave back, mounting Orpheus without mentioning that he'd noticed the falseness of her smile.

X

She hadn't worn black in years. Now she smoothed down the dark lace that she had bought for this day and looked into the mirror.

"He would be proud," Rupert said from where he stood near the window taking a drink for courage.

Iris smiled thinly.

"You don't have to do this," she said, turning to him. He stretched out a hand towards his wife.

"Yes, I do."

She joined him, taking the tumbler from his hand and drawing a deep gulp, then pulled a face.

"You don't like Whisky," Rupert reminded her.

"I need it today," she protested, taking another sip.

"Fair enough."

Again she started pacing the room, inspecting her watch.

"It's almost four o'clock," she said. Just then there was a knock at the door. John, in his best suit, stood on the threshold.

"Are we ready?" he asked. Iris shook her head.

"Mac received a telephone call from the hospital. Something urgent it seems. And Jack and Phryne are dashing about somewhere in the countryside, Mrs. Harper tells me."

John frowned at this.

"Hardly the time for frolicking," he grumbled.

"I think it is rather related to the case," Rupert pushed in. "But maybe we should head downstairs and have some tea in the library before we leave," he opted, looking at his almost empty glass in Iris's hand. "Before you get too drunk to do the honours, my Darling."

Iris scowled at him but carefully picked up the box with her late husband's remains. The odd threesome had just made their way into the hall when they spotted Rosemary sitting with Grace Harper through the open door of the tearoom.

"Excuse me for a moment," Iris begged, pressing Christian's ashes into John's arms, who looked rather stunned down at the box. The two men watched slip into the room and pull the door shut behind herself.

"What was that about?" John asked Rupert, who smiled.

"My wife has decided to join into the sleuthing."

"Another one? This family is run over by female detectives," the old man grumbled, but took both of Iris's husbands to the library and offered them another round of Whisky.

They were on their second and third glass respectively by the time the Detective's barged through the door, bringing the scent of horses with them. John crinkled his nose at their crumpled appearances.

"I see you have made your way back from the wilderness?"

"So we have, Father," Jack smiled, dropping into a chair. "And it was wild indeed. Have you found out anything about Mr. Torres's mysterious occupation."

"One might say so."

"Are you going to explain or will I have to convince you?" a rather grumpy Phryne asked from where she was filling two glasses, when he didn't seem inclined to go on. Jack waved the offered drink away with an apologetic gesture. His head was still complaining the abuse too vehemently to get through the days without the help of Mac's magic and he didn't feel like a repeat of his drugged up state, fun as it may have been.

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" John asked, taking the refused tumbler to replace his own.

Phryne sat, crossing her legs.

"It may," she smiled grimly.

"I am shivering in my booties," John grinned, but finally sat his glass down to repeat the afternoon's events to his son and daughter-in-law.

"Wade Torres is a fence?"

"A whole barn stuffed to the rafters with furniture, artwork, papers, even jewellery. I've spent the afternoon on the telephone with about every police station in this part of Victoria and we found a handful of matches already. The lads from Mount Macedon are currently taking the place apart and even some officers from Melbourne promised to be up by the morrow to start comparing with their paperwork."

"Torres...?"

Is enjoying the lovely tea at the Station and Sergeant Ferguson's company," John stated happily. "His freedom was of rather short duration."

The Detective's eyes locked across the room.

"Well that certainly explains his keen interest in the second railway line," Rupert stated from the back. The three sleuths looked at him as if they had forgotten about his presence. "And why a station farther from the public eye – and the police station – didn't offend him as much as most business owners."

Nobody asked how he knew about any of this. Rupert Walker may not have been the most active of conversation partners but he was a keen listener. A knock caused their heads to fly around in the other direction.

"I hope I haven't interrupted anything," Mia Green quipped, entering the room with a tray. A pair of blazing eyes measured her.

"You have, as a matter of fact," John gave back coldly.

Miss Green halted in her doing and tilted her head at the old Mr. Robinson. Then something changed in her features, it was hard to say what it was, but Phryne noticed with astonishment that John's face softened as well. Confusion was written over Jack's forehead as they watched the strange, silent exchange.

"Well, I have figured out why the Wilson's are fighting..." a voice sounded from the door. Iris trailed off when she realised who was currently serving tea. Mia Green smiled thinly.

"Continue, I am certain it's interesting."

She turned again towards where she had been stirring sugar into a cup and Iris shared a confused look with first Rupert and then Jack, who nodded encouragement.

"It appears the boarding school employing Robert Wilson has been hovering close to destitution for some time. The location seems not ideal for the offspring of rich families."

"So, the church considered shutting it down?" Phryne concluded.

"Not without making a last attempt at saving it by sending Father Fitzpatrick out here to help get things back in line. It appears though he is not particularly fond of Woodend either and has been trying to close down the school as lucratively as possible."

The Detective's looked at each other.

"The land...?"

"Harper's proposed railway line would have led right through the grounds of the school," Mia Green confirmed what they were thinking. "And Fitzpatrick is said to have been willing to accept."

"The end for the college," Jack stated under his breath.

"To add insult to injury for my family," Mia nodded. "The hotel depends on Robert's wages to make ends meet."

The Detectives were only listening with half an ear.

"Love will lead a good man to do things he never thought himself capable of," Phryne mumbled, only for Jack to hear, who was already halfway on his feet.

"Miss Green, where is your nephew?" he asked breathlessly.

"At work I would assume, why?"

She didn't receive an answer.

X

Screeching, the Hispano came to a halt in front of the impressive old building that made for the main house of the 'Woodend College for Boys'.

They were greeted by an elderly groundkeeper who didn't seem particularly thrilled by their appearance but felt himself too old to try and argue. Phryne's heels clacked out an awfully loud staccato on the stone floors as they hurried down the long corridors towards the office of Robert Wilson. The man himself didn't look overly surprised as the door flew open and revealed the two Detectives, slightly dishevelled, out of breath and still with the odour of horse about them.

He nodded quietly and slapped the version of 'Hamlet' shut that he had been enthralled in.

"You are under arrest for the murder of Aidan Harper," Jack said, once he had caught his breath. The man rose without a word and offered his hands just when the Inspector realised that he hadn't brought any handcuffs. He looked at his wife, who also shook her head. They were still in the station after their use earlier in the day. But then, Mr. Wilson seemed not inclined to cause any trouble. They marched him without any restraints out into the hot, but beautiful, late afternoon.

"Does my wife know?" Wilson asked after several minutes of flying through the fields.

"Her aunt does."

He nodded at that.

"Probably for the better. She suspected it, I am sure."

The noise of the Hispano was the only sound for a while as it followed the curvy street to the town.

"Was it premeditated?" Jack asked what had been bearing on his mind. Wilson shook his head.

"Not for a minute. I was angry with Harper, of course. His greed would have been our ruin. But not for a moment had I ever considered doing him any harm."

"You took him out to the Rock that night?"

Robert Wilson stared out over the countryside where the sun was finally beginning to turn it's face towards the horizon.

"I just wanted to bring him home, but he all but ordered me to take him out to this tree instead. There was no sense to get out of him."

"What happened?"

"He started digging in the ground. It was ridiculous, I was tired, wanted to get home. I made the mistake of touching him. Harper suddenly had a pistol, I have no idea where it came from. But he was too drunk, I disarmed him easily."

"You could have left then," Phryne said pointedly. Wilson nodded.

"I could have. But I didn't. I thought now that I have the great Aidan Harper at my mercy... maybe I could talk to him. Convince him that he couldn't build this railway line."

"But he didn't listen?"

"He was rambling, about his mother and the O'Neills and his wife. I felt my patience slipping, asked him if he couldn't think at least once about someone else than himself and... he laughed at me."

A tear dripped onto the leather seat.

"So you shot him," Jack stated coldly.

"I don't know how it happened. I must have pulled the trigger, but I can't remember."

Wilson shook his head as if he was still hoping to make sense of it all. "He would have ruined us and he just laughed."


	44. Chapter 43: Nightmare Of My Choice

**I'm sorry about the delay, I got somewhat sidetracked by a smutty short that wouldn't leave my head and was finally finished at 3 am this morning. But back to "Kurrajong"": as we are nearing the end of this exhaustive tale I think it's time to finally say some thanks to the people who were involved in the long months of writing this. To Ariadne for allowing me to use her as a sounding board and bounce ideas; to Lynda for readily being my guinea pig, never tiring of the next update; to Jo for coming up with the idea of the Hanging Rock Races in the first place (and inadvertedly inspiring my lovestory with the old stones); to Jeneen for being there in just the right moment; to Kirsten and Barb for indulding my obsession - and my hubby for dealing with it. And to all of you out there, the vocal ones and the quiet ones. I still love sharing my stories with you. Thank you for the opportunity.**

**Chapter 43: Nightmare Of My Choice**

Hazel's annoyance was growing. Nothing in this family ever worked as planned. Now Mac had finally made it off the telephone but insisted that she needed to clarify something in her Coroner's report before Jack filed the paperwork. Apparently she had committed some minor mix-up that couldn't wait until tomorrow.

The Detectives had rushed off again, she'd been told, seemingly they had figured out the killer but none of the people who'd witnessed their mad dash out the door were entirely sure if that was the case or if they had just had some other sudden flash of genius. They usually returned with _someone_ in handcuffs.

Iris was by now on her third glass of Whisky and her sister began to worry for her. She might say that she was happy to go through with spreading Christian's ashes, but Hazel had known her long enough to recognize when Iris was struggling. While Hazel had been fond of Christian herself and knew that both Jack and John had respected him, she knew that the wake her sister had requested wasn't truly designed for their benefit. She was scared out of her wits to do this on her own and the longer the waiting dragged on the more nervous she got.

The two men in the room also seemed to run out of patience. Rupert had been rather quiet until John had begun bickering and now they were in a heated discussion that reminded very much of an argument – not that they would call it that.

Hazel pulled herself to her feet.

"I need some fresh air."

Nobody was listening, as Iris was currently attempting to call a truce. Hazel grasped for her purse and left the small library with a breath of relief. In the hall she spotted Mrs. Tattler in discussion with her sister. Neither of them looked particularly happy.

"They must be wrong!" she exclaimed, rubbing her temples in a pained fashion. "Robert would never..."

She trailed off when she spotted the guest staring at them.

"Good afternoon, Miss Morgan."

Hazel hurried on with a brief greeting. Two pairs of eyes followed her outside where a hot day came to an end. The lazy heat lay over the street like a blanket, smothering all activity. Only a couple of women with their children in tow wandered down the road from opposite ends. An elderly farmer climbed onto his cart in front of the bakery, measuring her with a brief scowl. Hazel smiled as friendly as she could muster before wandering down the street. She decided to head towards the little corner store for lack of anything else to do, but when she arrived the door was already locked. Lost, she turned on her heels before marching down a random street. It was a rather idyllic little town, once one managed to forget about threatening notes and men being shot in the chest, she caught herself thinking as her heels moved over pressed dirt. She had to backtrack after a while, trying to not get lost in the maze of tiny roads. A glance at her watch told her that she had been gone for over half an hour. By now they were probably waiting for her. Hoping for a shortcut, she turned into a small path that she had spotted before. Wild flowers grew in the cracks of the wall separating her from a garden. Hazel dragged the sweet smell of the evening into her lungs. It really was a nice place to be. She felt his presence before he touched her. But she didn't get a chance to react before a big hand was pressed onto her mouth from behind.

"Don't worry. If you are a good girl this won't hurt."

Hazel was rather sure that it would. The question was merely, whom.

X

Silence greeted them inside the Station. Sergeant Ferguson jumped to his feet when the Inspector stepped in front of his desk.

"Where are Packard and Torres?"

"In the cells downstairs. The bickering was starting to get on my nerves... Sir."

Jack couldn't suppress a grin.

"You have an awful lot of cells for such a small police station," Phryne pointed out, while the Inspector took the key to the one in the back from it's place on the wall.

"We need them," Ferguson protested.

"You do tonight," Phryne quipped, settling on the edge of the desk, showing the tiniest bit of stocking. The young Sergeant flushed bright red at the sight.

Jack opened the cell door which screeched it's protest.

"Mr. Wilson. I'm afraid our accommodations aren't quite as comfortable as yours."

A slim smile answered him as Robert Wilson stepped into his new home. The steel lock fell shut with a very final thud.

The Inspector turned, realising that the Sergeant looked rather stunned. If about the unexpected arrest or the fact that Phryne was still playing with the hem of her skirt in a slightly flirtatious fashion was hard to say.

"Sergeant, would you please head over to the hotel and let Mrs. Wilson know that we have arrested her husband for murder and he has given us a full confession. You might want to take down her statement."

Usually he would do this kind of job himself, but Jack felt rather drained after the long day. Arresting murderers was never a joyful task, but imprisoning people he liked tended to be devastating. His head pounded loudly into his thoughts. He briefly glanced at the tower of papers, then Phryne, before taking her arm with the quietest of whispers.

"I need to stay here. Can you please explain things to Iris?"

She opened her mouth, but shut it again. The case was over, nothing but paperwork to be filed and details to be clarified. That could take hours from her experience. Surely he could take a break for the ceremony and then return...

"I want to leave first thing in the morning," he added, his eyes dark in the dim light.

Phryne nodded understanding. Wilson was probably the most harmless of murderers they had ever encountered and Packard and Torres safely locked up. Nothing much could happen here.

While her twisting gut still challenged this resolve, she watched as Jack poured himself a glass of water and ripped open another one of those little packs of headache powder which had been his constant companion over the last few days. She would have to address this very soon. Soft steps drew closer just when the thought flitted through her mind and a hand grasped Jack's wrist before he could empty the glass.

"I believe you might want to reconsider that," Mac said, while Jack raised his eyes at her.

"I've just gotten off the telephone with the hospital before. One of my patients made a turn for the worse this morning, nothing of concern to you. But Miss Walters also informs me that they have discontinued the use of this particular medication after several patients where found roaming the corridors at night in a paranoid craze."

Jack stared at Mac's raised eyebrow, then he slowly, very slowly set the glass back down. Phryne could see the wheels in his head rattling and spinning.

"Quite a few of them thought they were about to be murdered," Mac happily added, stretching out her hand. Jack fumbled another three sleeves from his pocket and laid them into her open palm. "I'll find you something else in my bag to deal with that head of yours," the Doctor promised. Phryne chewed on her lip while Mac checked her watch.

"We had better get to the hotel if we desire to join this lovely little ceremony," she stated not without sarcasm.

"Desire is not exactly the word I would use."

Despite her reply Phryne rose with a sigh. The knowledge that her own brain had come up with the imaginary danger to Jack wasn't particularly comforting. She rather relied on that part of her body more than any other.

Before she left, she bent over Jack, who had sunk behind the desk, now sorting through paperwork. She cupped his cheek and pressed the gentlest of kisses to his lips.

"I'll be back for you," she promised. She knew that Jack was likely to spend all night at the station and she had absolutely no intention of letting him starve or die of boredom in the meantime. He flashed her a smile.

"I know."

The two stepped out into the retreating sunlight and climbed into the waiting Hispano.

"Not the ideal time to head up to the Rock," Phryne pointed out.

"I believe they were hoping to have it over with an hour ago. Sadly time management isn't a strength of this family," Mac grumbled as they made their short way back towards the 'Queen Victoria'. They were just informed that the Walkers and Mr. Robinson had already gotten on the road in their motorcar by a shaken looking Mrs. Tattler, when they heard the screaming.

X

Hugh returned home early that night to cheerful jazz-music. He was greeted at the door by a happily flushed Dot, taking his coat before pressing a kiss to his cheek and bustling away again. On stepping into the parlour the Constable found Jane and Mr. Butler engrossed in a game of cards. It was around this time that he seriously began questioning his senses.

"A drink, Constable?"

Hugh stared on in astonishment as Jane refused to hand the bottle to Mr. B and instead poured some wine herself.

"Is there any reason to celebrate?" he asked, mechanically accepting the offered glass.

"Very much so, Hugh," Dot said beside him. "Why don't you sit down, it will still be a little while until dinner is ready."

He allowed himself to be pushed onto the sofa, while Jane changed the record on the gramophone. His son commented on her choice with a happy gurgling from his crib.

"So... those news...?"

"Very happy news indeed, Constable," Mr. B confirmed, refilling his magically emptied glass.

"Miss Aberville has gotten engaged," Jane explained.

"To a lovely young chap," Mr. Butler added. "It appears she will get married very soon and make a home for him."

"So. Does that.. I mean, can we manage without her?"

He looked up to find him wife coming towards him, flinging her apron over the back of a chair and sinking down on the sofa beside him.

"I fear we might have to, Hugh."

He had time enough to be confused about the twinkle in her eyes before she leaned in to pull him into a kiss.

X

A circle had formed around the two people in the middle of the street, the sun glancing at them briefly before shrugging and sinking behind the horizon. Hazel, clutching her torn blouse shut with one hand, her hair in a tangled mess, glared angrily at the tall man, who looked a little worse for wear.

"You can't seriously believe anything she is saying!" Bill Ferguson protested. "I am an upstanding citizen and happily married. I hardly need to approach young ladies inappropriately in bright daylight.

"I'm certain she didn't tear her blouse herself," Phryne chimed in, pushing through the crowd.

"Good knows, she might have gotten caught on a bush," the man protested. He found himself confronted with a steaming redhead.

"So you didn't decide that _'the touch of a man would make her a true woman'_?!' Mac spat, while Phryne gently took the shaken Hazel by the shoulders and led her away from Ferguson.

"What are you talking about?!"

Instead of an answer he received a resounding slap.

"You know exactly what you wrote," the Doctor growled.

"You're little friend attacked me in the middle of the street out of nowhere!" he screamed, wiping some blood from his lip before spitting at Mac's feet. "You are sick, both of you and all of your kind."

"Let's go inside," Phryne proposed quietly to Hazel before calling louder: "Mac!"

She felt anger boil in her stomach, but arguing with Ferguson would achieve nothing but make her friends a further target of bigotry.

But Hazel glittered at him out of wild eyes, pulling some friendly bystander's coat closer around herself.

"And what kind would that be?" she challenged.

Ferguson spun on his heels, staring at her, then looking at the people surrounding them, who measured him with a mixture of emotion and chose to address them instead.

"All of you have seen their deprived behaviour. Flaunting their sick relationship in the midst of your town! I was trying to cure her!"

Looking for support he looked through the disbelieving faces, but he found nothing but disgust and confusion. Yet nobody spoke up.

"They are what's wrong with this town, don't you see?"

Mac shook her head slowly and sought out Hazel's eyes, who currently regretted her decision to open her mouth rather than just retreat.

"I see only one thing that is wrong here," Mrs. Robinson stated loudly, just when a man pushed forward through the crowd.

"About time you show up, Geoff."

The Sergeant didn't look at his father, as he fumbled some handcuffs from his belt.

"You are under arrest."

Bill gaped at his son.

"What?! I was assaulted!"

"And I am certain you deserved it. I haven't forgotten about Miss Werner, even if everybody else has."

"Nothing happened with Miss Werner. She was fabricating the whole story, just as this little harlot over there!"

The Sergeant didn't answer, instead grabbing his father's flailing arm and trying to wrestle him into submission, biting his lip with the effort.

"You can explain everything at the station."

It was a movement so quick that nobody saw it coming. But suddenly a shot cut through the air, and Bill Ferguson held a policeman's gun raised over his head with a wild expression in his face.

"Oh, not again," Phryne mumbled under her breath. She'd really had enough stand-offs for one afternoon.

"You need to take better care of your pistol, Geoff, I keep telling you that," Bill Ferguson said loudly. "You're being careless again."

"You are making this worse on yourself, Father!"

The Sergeant backed off slowly when he suddenly stared down the wrong end of his own weapon.

"Where is your respect, Geoffrey?!"

The Sergeant held Bill's gaze even while all colour drained from his features. A gasp went through the crowd as it watched the Father aim, a mad glimmer in his eyes.

"Are you really going to shoot your own son, Ferguson?" another voice asked casually. "Even you can't be that cold blooded."

The man spun, losing interest in his former target.

"Cold blooded, Mrs. Robinson? I am no such thing. You see, I am trying to teach him some manners!"

Bill laughed crazily, the gun shaking in his hand.

"Waving around a weapon hardly showcases your own good conduct."

Unmoved by her her calm exterior Phryne's hand fumbled in her purse, but found only clutter! Her blood ran cold when realisation hit her: John had never returned her pistol! And she could hardly knock out Ferguson with her powder puff.

"Watch out!"

Phryne ducked at Mac's exclaim and the bullet missed several heads, chipping off an edge of the hotel balustrade. When the bystanders dared to come back up into a standing position, another gasp went through the crowd. Phryne held her breath as she stared at the revolver that was currently pressed against Mac's jaw.

"You shouldn't provoke me, Mrs. Robinson. Someone might get hurt," Ferguson said in a voice almost friendly, hadn't it been for the violent quality of the scene. His son stood a metre behind him, panting in anger, but Phryne glanced at him briefly with the slightest shake of her head. She'd encountered this kind of man before. He would shoot Mac in front of 20 people and then refuse any responsibility. Hazel seemed to have frozen in fear beside her.

"I think you all should go about your business now," Bill Ferguson continued. "Go!"

The cocking of the gun brought people back to life, running down the street in a mad dash. Many of them removed only to a safe distance before turning to watch. Phryne didn't move an inch.

"I won't go anywhere until you release her," she said as calmly as she could muster. Mac's eyes were almost white as she was clutched against the madman's chest. She swallowed hard, involuntarily pressing her skin against the metal.

"In that case, _we_ will have to leave," the man smiled, dragging his hostage backwards. Mac stumbled, lost her footing and Phryne could hear Hazel draw a sharp breath through her teeth. But the weapon didn't go off and the three people who still stood in the middle of the street watched on helplessly as Ferguson pulled the Doctor to the Hispano and shoved her behind the wheel.

Phryne woke from her own state of shock as the motorcar rolled down the road at speed, madly running a few metres after it but, of course, to no avail. Panting she tried to grasp for a sober thought.

"Where is your car, Sergeant?!"

"It's... I parked it down the street."

"Hurry!" Phryne yelled, turning on her heels and spotting Hazel already racing towards the fence of the hotel, where two horses were still patiently waiting for their owner to be finished. Both Athena and Orpheus hadn't taken the loud noises well and moved nervously on the spot as Hazel approached, throwing the stranger's coat in the grass. She had completely forgotten about both, her showing undergarments and her fear of horses as she swung herself onto Athena's back. Phryne was already on Orpheus, who jumped the fence with not a moment's hesitation. Phryne held onto his mane for dear life as the horse chased down the street. The colt had none of the finesse of Athena, but he was just as fast and as they shot through the twilight she imagined she saw sparks flying from his hooves. The Hispano wasn't more than a red shadow in the distance by now. Breathlessly Phryne drove her horse forward, Hazel's heavy panting in her ears.

The Hispano turned right with screeching tyres, leaving town and Orpheus took another fence, exiting Woodend through a shortcut and racing through the darkening bushland. In the distance the Rock rose against the evening sky, threatening with it's ghosts - but not half as threatening as a man crazed by hatred. Phryne found herself alone with her spinning thoughts. She had gotten it wrong! Mac had been in danger, Mac and Hazel. Not Jack. She again had missed the obvious!

Guilt squeezed the air out of her lungs, but she had no time for regrets now. Digging in her heels she sped up, a droplet of the colt's sweat hitting her in the face. She wiped it off with the back of her hand along with her own. She'd lost her hat somewhere in the chaos, not that it mattered. In the distance Phryne heard the roar of her beloved Hispano mixing into the sound of the crickets and the clapping of hooves. Tonight for the first time she didn't enjoy it's speed. Above her the first stars glittered coldly down on the two women and their steeds flying over the darkening landscape. Time seemed to hold still, awaiting the gruesome things to come. The old stones stood, watching on in silence.


	45. Chapter 44: The Shadow Of Death

**Chapter 44: The Shadow Of Death**

It had been a long day and the two men were in no hurry. Mary and Marina gently trotted through the mild evening when the twilight gave the silhouette of a tree free. Luke sucked a deep breath into his lungs as they approached the Kurrajong and passed it.

"He never talks about her," he stated into the thoughtful silence. The other man hummed quietly.

"She meant the world to him."

"Yet he buried and forgot her!"

The bitterness in the young farmer's voice was unmistakable. His companion smiled.

"Not every man who talks love, knows it. And not every man who knows love has talent to talk about it."

The young man glanced at Jalboo's profile.

"I am not certain if I'd place Father in either of those categories," he finally pointed out stubbornly.

Jalboo's white teeth shone in the darkness.

"And yet you've accepted his protection all your life."

"I didn't know any better!"

A brief glance, another smile.

"And now you do?"

Luke sighed.

"If you are trying to convince me to forgive-"

"Nothing of the kind."

The horse's hooves were for a long moment the only sound as they rid through underneath a roof of trees. A blue car stood seemingly forgotten at the foot of the Rock.

"I've always admired your honour," Jalboo said suddenly. "But it seems to blind you at times."

Luke's head rose from dark thoughts.

"In what regard?"

"The world has more shades to offer than black and white, lad."

"I am aware of that!"

"Are you entirely certain?"

Luke huffed and fell into a grumpy silence when with a wild roar a motorcar shot out of the night and past them. The two men's eyes followed it stunned for a long moment, before Luke dug his heels in and hurried Mary after it. They reached the vehicle only minutes later; it had been carelessly abandoned in a ditch at the side of the road.

"Miss Fisher's car," Jalboo stated breathlessly.

"Mrs. Robinson's," Luke corrected automatically. "But it was Ferguson, I am sure."

"Then her friend is in danger," his companion said without further explanation and dismounted. The heavy steps making their way up the Rock in the darkness were easy enough to pick once they listened for them and the two men abandoned their horses in the forrest in order to follow. Neither of them had the slightest idea what had happened, but there was no doubt on their minds that Ferguson was up to no good.

X

The two women had lost both sight and sound of the Hispano-Suiza several minutes ago, leaving them chasing through the evening in speechless fear for what might be happening to Mac. Neither of them had uttered a word since mounting the horses. Phryne just drove Orpheus forward without so much at looking at Hazel, who was clinging onto Athena for dear life.

The mountain now towered high above, the dark tree closing in around them. Phryne felt a cold shiver running down her spine as thoughts and memories invaded her brain. She ignored them as well as she could, then she saw it: a red motorcar at the side of the road.

"The Hispano was almost out of gas," she gasped, finally breaking the silence. Hazel made a sound that could have been considered an answer. Phryne halted her horse, turning Orpheus on the spot. She couldn't catch any glimpse of Ferguson and Mac, but noticed some broken branches, where a make-shift path lead into the thicket.

"We need to leave them here," she decided, already slipping from Orpheus's back, tying him to a tree before she ran after Hazel who was about to disappear in the forest. The path Ferguson had chosen made little sense, yet it was broad enough to be easy to follow. Whatever Ferguson's intentions were, dragging Mac up the Rock didn't bode well, Phryne pondered, a shiver running down her spine. If there was indeed a plan to his madness. The sound of a ripping skirt tore her rudely from her thoughts, just as Hazel stumbled over a root. Phryne caught her, barely and realised that the other woman had silent tears streaming down her face.

"She'll be fine," she assured her, despite the fear closing her own throat.

"Of course she will," Hazel protested the attempt of comfort, straightening her back and pressing forward up the steep wilderness.

X

Detective-Inspector Robinson glanced at this watch, dimly wondering what took the Sergeant so long. It wasn't hard to guess. Mrs. Wilson was bound to have taken the news badly.

While pencilling down his investigation he thought of Phryne questioning his own ability to commit a murder. When he'd been 20 he could have answered that quickly and honestly with a resounding 'no'. But that had been a long time ago. Before the War and before he had seen everything that he had. Humans were capable of unbelievable things in every sense of the matter. It had also been a long time before he'd met Phryne and the Inspector had to admit to himself that the depths of his feelings for her scared him at times. Another glance at the watch. No Sergeant. And no Phryne. Jack sighed and got up to brew himself a cup of tea.

Surely they had to be done at the Rock soon. Iris wasn't a woman who lost herself in reminiscing. And while Jack could fully understand her need to find some closure, he assumed the situation to be incredibly awkward for Rupert. In sudden resolve he fixed a second cup.

"Mr. Wilson, we still need to talk about the motorcar and murder weapon," he announced towards the cell, where it had gone quiet an hour ago.

"Of course," a voice answered from the darkness. So Robert wasn't asleep. Jack had guessed that much. He released his prisoner and showed him a chair. The teacher stretched his limbs and sat down in the dim light of the single lamp illuminating the desk.

"There are things one forgets to cherish until they are gone," he said while Jack placed a cup in front of him. "Freedom is one of them."

Jack merely nodded grimly. He didn't like the idea of prosecuting Wilson any more than he had two hours ago. But justice was justice.

"You tried to frame Mr. Packard?" the Inspector asked, after having burned his tongue on the hot tea. Wilson shrugged.

"I wasn't really thinking straight after... I only knew I needed to get home to my wife and then..." he gulped, "...the nightmare would go away." He smiled thinly. "Of course, I was deluding myself. But a man may dream."

Jack nodded, making another attempt at the tea. Wilson followed his lead before continuing.

"To be honest, Inspector, it wasn't exactly an elaborate plan. I just parked the motorcar and threw the pistol into the bushes. The idea of pointing you towards him occurred to me much later in the night. He's not a pleasant neighbour.. to anyone. Rosemary is scared of him."

He laughed briefly, bitterly.

"I've tried, Inspector. I wasn't very good at the whole framing business."

It was silent for a long moment.

"But it may be for the better. I don't think I could've lived with two men's lives on my conscience."

Jack tilted his head, choking on the question wanting to be asked.

"I couldn't even hide the one from her."

"Your wife?" Jack asked.

"Rosemary suspected, I am sure. It's frightening how well they know us, isn't it?" Robert asked. The Inspector didn't answer, just played with a cuff-link – a present from Phryne. The turmoil outside rendered any possible answer unspoken. The Inspector lifted his head, trying to make sense of it.

"Fire," someone yelled. Jack frowned, then jumped to his feet and raced to the door.

"What's happening?" he asked a young man who tried to storm past him, grasping his shoulder when he didn't answer. The adolescent didn't seem particularly happy with the stranger holding onto him.

"The Victoria is burning!" he finally yelled and was released, while Jack raced back into the room and grasped for his hat before fishing for the keys. But Wilson shook his head.

"It's my family, Inspector," he pleaded.

Jack looked at the cell, then back at him, then nodded, his jaw clenched. Seconds later the two men were racing through the darkening street to where the flames were already colouring the night.

X

The voices came as a shock. In the darkness they spotted Mac sitting on a stone in the middle of an opening while Ferguson paced the rocky area, fumbling with his loaded revolver.

"I asked if there was any plan to this nightly excursion?" Mac repeated. The look of dishevelment belying her nonchalance almost broke Phryne's heart, yet she stopped Hazel by the grasp of her wrist, pulling her into the shadows. The pistol was still too readily held. And they had no weapon.

"A plan?! You've ruined me!" he spat. "You and your little friend!"

"That is certainly one way of looking at it," Mac stated coldly without tearing her eyes from the enraged man. He kept pacing, laughing grimly.

"You know, I was always wondering about your kind. Why you find men so utterly disgusting that you have to turn to your own?"

"This is ridiculous," Elizabeth stated, getting to her feet and brushing some dirt from her trousers. Ferguson spun, his pistol hovering in front of her forehead.

"An answer, Doctor!"

Mac slowly sank back onto her seat. Phryne, who had just considered storming out of hiding, retreated again, trying to calm her breath enough to not be heard. She watched her friend raise calm eyes at the man and fumble for a cigarette.

"If you must know, it has_nothing_ to do with men. I simply love her."

The elderly man seemed to have to grapple with that concept for a moment.

"A woman belongs with a man! It's the will of the Lord!"

"Did you ask him that personally?" Mac asked casually. Phryne felt a hysterical giggle rise in her throat that she repressed with some difficulty and glanced to her right to see how her companion was faring. But she found only empty space. Hazel had disappeared. Ferguson's voice had grown louder as he defended his beliefs. He was losing grip on reality; Phryne could feel it. His reputation and pride was all he'd had and now it was lost. Even he must know what that would mean. She couldn't wait much longer. Silently she cursed Hazel. She would do something silly, it was clear. What else could a woman in love do?

"I was trying to help her," Ferguson yelled. "Don't you understand?!"

"I understand perfectly!" Mac stated, her voice losing any pretence of calmness, a match flaring in the dark. "You thought in your bigoted little mind that you could help yourself to Hazel. And now you are waving a revolver around to save your manhood."

Phryne noticed a shadow ducking through between some gnarled and also crawled closer, trying to figure out the best angle to overwhelm Ferguson.

"You have too big a mouth for your own good, Do-"

Somewhere a dead branch broke underneath a careless foot. The sound didn't come from the direction of the shadow. Phryne's tasted her heart beat in her throat. Who else was sneaking around in the dark? And more importantly – on which side where they? Ferguson had heard them as well.

"Whose there?" he yelled, yanking a struggling Mac back to her feet by the arm. "Show yourself or I'll shoot her!"

A pale Hazel stepped out from behind a tree, the lovers sharing a shaky look.

"Who did you expect, Ferguson?"

He laughed.

"Ahh, Romea and Juliet, united again."

"Why don't you just let her go and we forget about all of this?" Hazel asked, ignoring his provocation.

"Forget?! You made me impossible! And you will fix it!"

Phryne could see from her hiding place that Mac wanted to say something and begged her silently to for once hold her tongue. The man was losing it rapidly.

"On the other hand," he rambling now with almost manic happiness, "Shakespeare might have been onto something. Lovers united in death. People will forget you... They barely know you as it is..."

Mrs. Robinson could see the fear in both her friend's eyes, as he took the pistol from Mac's throat to take aim at Hazel.

"_Please!_" Mac rasped out, losing all of her cockiness at once. Phryne scrambled to her feet, but a patch of soft dirt underneath her gave way, letting her briefly lose her grip.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you," the shadow said calmly, taking shape. "You see, there is that issue with witnesses in murder." Jalboo stepped casually into the moonlight as if he was in the habit of facing mad people with pistols in their hands. He was stared at like one would look at a nasty insect. Phryne tried to gasp for air. Of course, who else could know that something was going terribly wrong but he?! Ferguson visibly scrambled for his composure.

"And who would believe_you_?"

Jalboo showed a row of perfect teeth. Phryne fished for a branch as she crept closer in the shadows, shared the briefest of looks with Hazel, who nodded. While Ferguson was busy with Jalboo there might be the slightest opening to overwhelm him. It was risky, he was still holding Mac clutched against himself brandishing his pistol as if he had forgotten about the deadly weapon in his hand.

"Nobody would believe you," the man rambled under his breath. "I am an upstanding citizen."

"You keep telling yourself that."

Mac lived to regret her comment a moment later as the pistol flew back to her throat, his arm tightening, pressing the air out of her lungs. Hazel gasped in shock.

"I don't want to hear anything from you, or your little friend while the men talk!"

He glittered angrily at Jalboo as if he had just single-handedly turned him into a criminal.

"Come on, Ferguson, stop this before it's too late. You can't shoot all three of us," Jalboo stated, taking a step closer. Ferguson stared at him for a long moment, and Phryne in her hiding place shivered as his expression changed to calm insanity.

"And why ever not? Nobody will know."

A grim smile spread over his features as he once again changed his target. Jalboo paled, as much as that was possible for him. The taste of death hung breathlessly in the air. For a brief moment a cold thought flitted through Phryne's brain. Somebody's life was going to end tonight...

"Well, nobody aside from me!" a rock said into the heavy silence.


	46. Chapter 45: Set The World On Fire

**Chapter 46: Set The World On Fire**

Ferguson's eyes went glassy at the sight of Luke O'Neill crawling to his feet.

"Excuse my appearance. I was enjoying the show from a rather uncomfortable position," the farmer explained, brushing some dirt from himself while never letting the man out of his sight.

Phryne, still ducked behind a rock, ready to jump, retreated yet again, holding her breath. She realised that Ferguson had spoiled the farmer's plan. Luke had been waiting for a distraction, just like she was – but he wouldn't risk his friend being shot in the process.

For a long moment she imagined Jalboo was looking at her in her hiding place, before his eyes retreated back to the foaming Bill Ferguson. The madman clutched Mac tighter to himself, his pistol shaking in a desperate hand.

"What on earth are you playing at, O'Neill?"

"Oh, mostly that I just stumbled into an intended murder. And I will tell everybody, Ferguson!" Luke smiled grimly. "You won't be able to set a foot on Woodend's streets without someone spitting at you."

It was too much. A shot tore through the air. Phryne's feet flew over the slippery stone before Hazel and Jalboo had woken from their frozen stance.

"Ferguson!" the Detective yelled, just as Luke ducked behind a tree for cover. Mac used the chaos to kick against her capturer's shin and managed to struggle free from his grasp, falling and bashing her kneecaps painfully into the rock. Ferguson spun, meeting the arriving Mrs. Robinson eye-to-eye. She managed to hit his arm with the massive branch she'd been clutching onto, bashing the gun out of his hand. Her weapon was also lost in the impact.

Another shot ripped through the night as the revolver hit the rock, disguising her cry as she attacked Bill Ferguson with all the anger she had managed to amass in the last hour and a lifetime of dealing with bigoted people. Somewhere on the edge of her conscience she noticed Hazel scramble down beside a panting Mac, Jalboo dive for Ferguson's dropped pistol, Luke crawl out from his hiding place, clutching onto his arm.

She shouldn't have paid any mind to them. Ferguson was frantic in their struggle and the footing slippery with dew. While she was trying to bring up her knee, he managed to push her off balance, not a hard undertaking on the falling hill. With a cry she stumbled but held onto her opponent, digging her fingers into his expensive suit, taking him down to the ground. A red haze danced in front of her eyes as her head hit the cold stone before they rolled several feet down the mountain.

Dizzy and disoriented, Phryne came to a halt against a tree stump, Ferguson on top of her. He seemed to have suffered less from their tumble, holding her easily on the ground. Phryne's hand grasped onto a small rock and with all her strengths she bashed it again Ferguson's temple.

"Bitch," he hissed, losing the last of his composure. She heard other people scramble down the hill, but all her focus was on the fingers closing around her neck, squeezing the air out of her. With gritted teeth she dug her nails into his hands, breaking skin, while she kicked and bucked against the heavy man. She absolutely refused to die here!

Then suddenly Ferguson's eyes rolled back into his skull and his face came closer, slamming down against her shoulder. Above him, panting in effort, stood Jalboo, Ferguson's pistol still raised from using it as a blunt instrument.

"Thank you," Phryne puffed, rolling the unconscious body from herself with a sense of disgust. More footsteps approached.

"My pleasure, Miss Fisher."

Phryne gratefully accepted Jalboo's hand to help her to her feet. Her head was still spinning after having met several rocks with her skull on the way down. Heavy breathing drew closer.

"What happened?" Sergeant Ferguson gasped, climbing the last few metres.

"You've missed all the entertainment," Mac informed him while trying to get to her feet to have a look at the injured parties before coming to the realisation that her knees wouldn't hold. So instead she stayed seated and fished for the dropped cigarette, choosing to ignore the unabated concern of her lover. The young policeman froze as he spotted his father's lifeless frame.

"Is he...?"

"Insane. Yes. But don't worry, you will get plenty of chance to listen to his mad rambling once he comes to," Phryne explained, rubbing her throbbing head. She felt rather ragged and realised that she missed Jack. She had gotten so terribly used to him storming the scene whenever she'd gotten herself into danger that it left her feeling abandoned if he didn't. Of course, he couldn't know what had happened.

While Ferguson made sure his father was in fact alive, Phryne sorted her clothes and felt the back of her skull. No blood, but it was going to be a nasty bump.

"You were hit?" Jalboo asked Luke who was still clutching onto his arm.

"Barely a scratch," the farmer explained but his friend wasn't convinced until he had pried the bloody palm from the torn shirt and was able to confirm Luke's diagnosis. While he bandaged him up with a handkerchief, more people climbed down the mountain.

"Dear God, what happened?" Rupert asked, the first to arrive. A group of tired, battered people turned to look at him.

"I believe that is a story that deserves a glass of some hard beverage," Phryne explained. "Preferably in a very comfortable chair."

"One of those evenings then?" John asked. "Did everybody survive?"

"Barely," Phryne admitted, adding in a mumble, "and no thanks to you." Truthfully she was too tired and much too relieved to argue with John about his lack of responsibility for borrowed weaponry. Meanwhile, a visibly shaken Hazel received a tight hug from her sister.

"I apologize for missing your ceremony," she smiled thinly. "We were somewhat sidetracked."

"Well, it didn't quite go as hoped for," Iris admitted while gently brushing the rests of dirt and tears from her sister's cheek. "But then, that would've suited Christian very well."

"We've managed to spread his ashes," John's voice added with a grimace, ignoring the silent dialogue between the women. "Just when the wind picked up."

Phryne couldn't help but smile at his expression as he joined them. It told her that he would wash Iris's first husband from himself for several days. She much preferred it to Mac's blood.

X

A crowd had collected in front of the hotel, some men had begun to form a chaotic bucket line. A child was screaming over raised voices.

"Rosemary?!" Robert yelled. To his endless relief his wife emerged from the crowd, throwing her arms around his neck.

"I told Annie a hundred times not to leave anything on the stove," she sobbed. Robert hugged the crying woman tightly, mumbling soothing words into her ear. Jack tore his attention from them to organise the attempts at putting out the fire when suddenly he heard a gasp.

Mrs. Wilson spun on her heels. "Where is Mother? Has anyone seen Mother?"

Only shrugs answered her. Miss Green, who had been trying to calm down a hysterical woman and her crying son straightened, her face appearing ghostly in the light of the flickering flames.

"Oh dear God!... She lay down with a headache. About an hour ago."

Rosemary's mouth fell open in a silent scream as she struggled free from her husband and gaped at the ocean of flames that had taken over what had been her home. "But... no. She can't..."

"She'd have taken sleeping pills," Robert explained quickly to the Inspector. The two men stared in silence at the burning facade. Then they started running as one.

X

"How's the head?" John enquired, as he lead his daughter-in-law down the hill.

"I might be tempted to abuse Mac's powder," Phryne groaned, feeling for her bump. Her friend shot her a disapproving look.

"I believe I had quite enough adventure for one night, thank you."

The Doctor seemed to have shed her experience on the mountain like a winter coat, but someone knowing her very well might have noticed how tightly she was holding onto Hazel's arm. Her lover measured her with the briefest of glances.

"Indeed. It's cocoa and a bedtime story for you tonight."

Mac pulled a face at this and Phryne grinned before she whispered something into John's ear and fell back to where the Ferguson's were marching down the hill. Geoff did not look quite as grim as the situation warranted and Mrs. Robinson harbored the slightest suspicion that he had been waiting for the day he'd get to cuff his father for some years. Bill wouldn't even look at her.

Iris glanced at her briefly as she stumbled down the hill on the arm of her husband. The four glasses of whisky she'd downed didn't mix well with excitement and heels. But she was in safe hands.

O'Neill and Jalboo concluded the very mixed group, both silent as they climbed down the steep path.

"May I speak to you for a moment?" the Detective asked Luke.

"Refusing a Lady would hardly be polite," he grumbled.

"It might surprise you that I intend to do something very unladylike."

A pair of eyebrows were raised at this and Phryne simpered as she took the farmer's arm. Jalboo, who had moved a few steps ahead to give them some privacy, quietly grinned to himself. Luke cleared his throat.

"So, which unladylike behaviour am I to expect, Mrs. Robinson?"

"If you must know, Mr. O'Neill, I intend to meddle."

"In what regard?"

"In every regard."

She retrieved something from her decollete with a gesture that sent Luke's eyes into the dark forest in embarrassment.

"I believe you should have a look at this whenever your time allows."

He stopped, stared at the offered item before he took it with some hesitation.

"What-?"

"It will explain itself," Phryne said happily, just when she became acutely aware of an odd smell in the air and froze. Her family had collected near the foot of the mountain, where parting trees gave their view free towards Woodend. The sky above it was a dirty shade of orange.

"A fire," Mac stated breathlessly. Phryne felt her thoughts tumble through her brain in a panic.

"Jack," she whispered, already racing towards the waiting police car. Starting it turned out to be a little more complicated than the Hispano, which still stood use- and gasless in the ditch.

"Mrs. Robinson!" Ferguson called after her, but was hindered in his pursuit by his prisoner.

"I'm sorry, Sergeant, this is a matter of priorities," she called, just when she noticed John climbing into the passenger seat. "I'll see you in town."

Moments later the car shot through the night. How the rest of the group would return, she wasn't certain and she didn't care. They would figure it out somehow. The unfamiliar vehicle gave some struggle, but Phryne wrestled it into obedience without paying any mind to it while her father-in-law held on for dear life.

"If it's the station, he'd have been five steps away from the exit," he finally pointed out, but Phryne shook her head.

"He won't run," she said, meaning a whole lot more than an escape from a burning building. "The bloody fool never does."

John fell silent at this. There was no doubt on either of their minds that if there was trouble, Jack would be right in the thick of it.

X

The flames were everywhere, the heat unbearable. Jack pressed his arm in front of his mouth, trying to not inhale the biting smoke as he followed the shadow of Robert Wilson up the stairs. He had realised that he had not the slightest inkling where the private rooms of Mrs. Tattler would be located. Coughing he arrived at the top.

"Down here, Inspector," Robert puffed before bursting into a wild coughing attack. Jack clapped him on the back, aware that nothing in here would help to get over the pain in their lungs. The smoky death was crawling into every fibre of their bodies. Flames licked down the wallpaper to their right, already eating their way through the wood beneath, the roof above them stood in bright flames, but the floor underneath their soles seemed still solid. Blinking into the thick smoke, Jack felt for the wall.

"Come on," he encouraged his companion, who tried to straighten, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "We need to hurry."

Robert nodded and Jack forged onwards, his burning eyes being of little help. His hand reached a door that was scolding underneath his fingers. There was no point in opening it - even if Fefe Tattler should be behind it, it was too late. Swallowing down any regrets, he pushed himself forward when he realised that the heavy panting in his back had gone. He turned, but in the midst of the hot gloom he couldn't make out anything.

"Wilson?"

He spun on his heels, but there was nothing, not a hint of the other man. A swirl of smoke took the opportunity to intrude into his lungs and Jack toppled over in a violent cough. Grasping for the next thing his hands could find, he pushed open a door. The interior of the room seemed mostly unscathed by flames just yet, even though the fire had begun to consume the walls and roof. He recognised it in an instance – the hotelroom he had shared with Phryne. The jug beside the washing bowl caught his immediate attention. Water. He rushed forward, not sure what he was going to do with the liquid, yet in the deep certainty that he needed to reach it all the same. Just when his fingers touched the porcelain, the roof above him gave a deep growl; a piece of mortar crumbled down; Jack's eyes flew up. But it was too late to escape the beam that smashed through the ceiling, brushing his head and knocking him flat off his feet. The Inspector felt the washing table topple over, pouring a gust of water over his head as he blinked into the flaming rubble surrounding him. A piece of heavy wood was still lying on his throbbing shoulder, his cheek pressed against the floorboards. He tried to get up, but all he could manage was a groan. Jack's fingers wrapped around something cool before the velvety darkness closed in and pulled him into it's depths.

X

By the time the police motorcar shot down High street, most of Woodend's citizens had collected in it. A group of men were trying to save the neighboring bakery, which had already caught fire. The hotel was lost, there was no doubt about it. Just as Phryne climbed from the car, half of the roof caved in with a sickening growl. She spotted Mia holding onto her hysterically sobbing niece near the entrance.

"Miss Green!"

She fought her way through the crowd, followed by John. "What happened?"

"An accident in the kitchen," the woman said, without tearing her eyes from the flames that reflected in her eyes. "My sister is still in there."

She finally turned to look at Phryne, who took an instinctive step backwards.

"Robert and the Inspector ventured to find her."

Her voice could have expressed condolences, it was so grave and Phryne shook her head in disbelief. Then she turned back towards the hotel, her feet starting to run without asking her permission. Dimly she heard John curse, but it didn't matter. The heat radiating from the hall was insufferable, but she fought her way two steps into the building, just to watch the staircase collapse into an ocean of flames in front of her eyes. The heatwave almost knocked her off her feet. She felt someone dragging on her, pulling her backwards into the night air. Gasping for breath she turned, willing to fight whoever dared touch her and found a pair of hollow, grey eyes.

"It's too late," John said, his voice unreadable.

"Jack is in there!"

She tried to pull away from him, but his hand was wrapped around her shoulder with an iron grip. He shook her gently, as if trying to beat some sense into her stubborn brain.

"It's too late," he repeated, "I can't allow Jane to lose both parents in one night!"

John's tone was calm but she rather sensed than felt that he was trembling with suppressed emotion. Phryne couldn't bear looking at him.

She'd failed.

Turning, she stared at the hell of flames that had swallowed her Jack. The fire was beginning to take over the last of the balcony wrapped around the upper floor, the balustrade smoldering in the darkness. In sudden resolve her shoulders straightened and she extended her elbow, drawing a gurgling sound from John as he let go of her to clutch onto his stomach.

"Sorry," she breathed, already running. The structure was hot underneath her hands, but she managed to pull herself up several feet within seconds. Her heels were slipping on the painted wood. Phryne clenched her teeth, grasped higher. She'd get to Jack, she _would_ find him!

"Phryne?!"

It was Mac calling her. So they had made their way. Mrs. Robinson smiled grimly. They'd be all right. Jane would be all right. But their daughter would never forgive her if she'd just let Jack die.

Her hand found another dip in the wood, cutting itself on an exposed nail. Phyne hissed, her thighs trembled with the effort of trying to hold onto the pillar while she fought the urge to let go. Another two feet, the edge of the balustrade was now almost in her reach. She shifted her grasp, the metal hot under her fingers, but she grabbed on all the same. The structure groaned then, for a brief moment the world held still as the wood gave way.

Phryne fell.


	47. Chapter 46:When In Doubt, Choose To Live

**Chapter 46: When In Doubt, Choose to Live  
**

Jack turned on his heels. The roof top. An odd place for this meeting.

"So this is it then?" he asked the man who sat in a chair, a drink in hand. "I am going to die there?"

Jalboo shrugged.

"That's entirely possible."

The Inspector followed the unspoken invitation and sat, taking the second glass from the table. The smokey taste of whisky burned down his throat, calming him. Wind playing in the trees mixed with cheerful gramophone music being carried over from the Collin's house.

"You know, it would be polite to at least try and be less enigmatic with a dying man."

A grin answered him, but no words. Jack thought he heard Jane laughing. The idea of leaving her broke his heart. And Phryne... being a widow really didn't suit her. Right now he almost wished he had never fallen in love with her. Only that he couldn't bear the thought of having never kissed her at all.

"It's up to you, Inspector."

Jack started from his dark musings, stared at Jalboo for a long moment before his eyes were drawn back to his glass where something blue glimmered in the amber. He extracted the item slowly. Looked back at the other man, tilted his head in question...

Jalboo nodded.

The rooftop dissolved into white liquid.

The Inspector forced his eyes open. A violent cough shook him as he shifted the remainder of the beam from his aching shoulder, struggled free from the rubble. Crawling onto his knees, he noticed something his hand was clutching onto. He shoved it into his pocket without a moment's thought.

There was fire everywhere his eyes fell, but he somehow managed to get onto his feet. As he stumbled into the hall, he heard a voice dimly calling for him. Turning, he spotted two silhouettes against the flickering twilight.

"Inspector?"

It was Mrs. Tattler, held upright by her son-in-law, who looked ragged, his face almost black with soot. It was in fact not quite clear who was supporting whom.

"We are trapped," Robert gasped. "The stairs are gone."

Jack eyes darted down the hall where fire trickled through every opening. This, he imagined, hell would look like.

"This way," he panted, letting his instincts take over. He was gasping heavily, his lungs stinging with the effort of every movement, but he managed to find another door. It was still possible to make out the horrible wallpaper on this end of the house as he grasped for the surprisingly cool metal. Yet the handle wouldn't budge.

"Step aside," the Inspector yelled against the roaring inferno, not waiting for his companions to react before his shoe bashed against the old wood. With aching toes he retreated, gasped for air, then made another attempt. At the third try the old lock gave way and he managed to push the door in far enough for the three of them to be able to squeeze into a room just moments before another beam slammed down into the hallway.

X

The stars in front of her eyes lingered as she lay staring into the dancing flames. The balcony, her last hope at getting into the building, now was completely engulfed in fire, a part of it collapsed where it had dropped her to the ground. Phryne pulled herself onto her knees with some effort, her wrist throbbing. It had caught some of her fall, but not enough. Footsteps raced closer, cries of worry on familiar lips. But she couldn't manage to drag herself to her feet. Instead her fingertips dug themselves into the red dirt as the truth hit her. She'd come too late. Jack was lost.

The pain scorched through her innards like the fire through the hotel, leaving her numb and shivering in the radiating heat. There was no sober thought to be found in the hollow space that had once been occupied by her brain. Hands were touching her, trying to hold her, drag her up, but she stubbornly refused to be comforted.

If she'd never come. If she'd never allowed herself to fall for him, he wouldn't be here, not be dying in this hell of flames that ate everything, mercilessly. She wouldn't even get a body to bury. Sobs rose in her throat, but she swallowed them down. Crying wouldn't accomplish anything. It was too late, even for regrets.

Despair knocked at the door of her conscience, an unwelcome guest to the Honourable Phryne Fisher. Tonight she opened, took it's coat and hugged it tightly to herself.

She was too distracted to feel the rain of glass falling down on her, picked up a shard without any thought, stared at her bleeding palm, the flames reflecting in the glittering object. Then the sound finally seeped through the wall of nothingness. Phryne raised her eyes to the voice calling her name. The smile unfolding on her features could have lit up a galaxy.

X

There was a ladder. Where it had come from they would never know but Phryne took only seconds to be on top of it, ignoring her throbbing body. Miss Tattler was the first to be helped out of the window, despite Phryne truly wanting to drag Jack down to the ground with her, know him safe before she cared about anyone else on the planet. The hotel owner, covered in soot and grime was handed down the ladder in a strange chain of caring hands and embraced by Mia and a crying Rosemary. Next was Robert Wilson, who was coughing violently. There were less hands holding onto him, apparently the news had spread that he was a murderer, yet his wife was more than happy to see him and there was also the strange awe that would meet a hero. Jack was last. He looked like death warmed over, but he was smiling as he took Phryne's hand to climb out through the broken window. Behind him the room was taken over by flames. By the time they reached the window, the couple was already halfway down the ladder.

When there was finally solid ground underneath their feet, Jack turned to Phryne, but was interrupted by John, who hugged his son so tightly that he burst into another coughing fit as the air was squeezed from his lungs.

"You just had to play the hero!" his father scolded after he'd let go and cleared his throat in embarrasment.

"I know it was foolish to rescue a woman from certain death," Jack agreed with a smirk, while other people patted him on the back and hugged him. Iris was the last in line.

"Would you care to stop doing this to me?" she whispered beside his ear, tears shining in her eyes. He kissed her on the cheek but made no promises of the kind.

Finally the attention trickled away as the townsfolk went back to the effort of saving the rest of the street. Behind stayed Phryne, who hadn't let go of Jack's hand since they'd reached safety. He turned to her, noticing her disheveled appearance before gently removing a leaf from her locks.

"And where have you been crawling through the bushes, Miss Fisher?"

"Mac was in a bit of a trifle," Phryne smiled, adding upon spotting his curiosity: "Lets just say all the cells at the station will be occupied tonight."

Jack tilted his head at her.

"I'll fill you in later," Phryne promised, running her fingertips along his jawline, savoring the very battered, but also very alive face of her husband. His eyes shone in the flickering light as he watched her composure crumble.

"You took your time," she said quietly, without interrupting her caress.

"My apologies," he whispered, his voice hoarse with smoke. "I was rather preoccupied."

"I'm not certain if I want to know," his wife gave back with a tiny smile.

"I didn't think I'd ever see the day your curiosity wanes."

Phryne had barely time enough to roll her eyes before he cupped her cheek and pulled her into a kiss that took her breath away.

Jack hadn't forgotten the picture that had greeted him when he'd battled his way to the window. Now didn't seem the right time to tell her the details of his struggle with death, though he would, maybe later tonight or back in St. Kilda, just as she would share her doubtlessly dangerous adventure in the bushes. Right this moment none of it mattered. He just felt tired, tired to the bones.

Phryne was staring past him where the efforts of firefighters and townsfolk began to bear fruit. Smoke was rising from the roof of the bakery, but the flames had ceased. There would, however not be much left of the 'Queen Victoria' Hotel. She spotted Grace Harper in the crowd with Rosemary and Robert. Luke O'Neill had miraculously joined the fire fighters, as had his father and Jalboo.

"Maybe we should help?" Jack pointed out, stifling a cough.

"We probably should," Phryne agreed without releasing him. „Then again," she added, turning her eyes back to the Inspector who looked a little worse for wear, "I think they might be just fine without us. And you've done quite enough tonight."

Jack considered briefly to argue, then he just nodded. However, leaving would not provide an easy task, considering that their bed was standing in flames.

"It appears we will have to find another place to sleep tonight," Phryne pointed out as if reading his thoughts. Briefly, very briefly she toyed with the idea of a nightly drive back to St. Kilda, to their safe, warm beds, until it occurred to her that the Hispano was still at the rock. Jack bursting into a coughing attack that reminded her nastily of his pneumonia a few months back diminished any delusions on that account.

"I'm sure someone will give us accommodation," he ground out. "And if not we can always try the plank beds at the station."

"I won't deny that I've been wondering about those," Phryne grinned. "But as mentioned, they are occupied."

He sensed a gentle hand running through his hair in a mixture of worry and tenderness and Jack was about ready to take her away and sleep somewhere curled up in the grass underneath the stars, when screaming behind him distracted him from any fantasies of rest. He recognised Rosemary's voice. Mac was already shoving through the thickening crowd from where she had been looking after Mrs. Tattler to where the turmoil had started. The Detective's arrived a moment later, Phryne like an icebreaker up ahead. Mac was kneeling beside a lifeless frame on the ground and it took her to look up and shake her head for her friend to realised who it was. She knew it before the Doctor opened her mouth.

"He's dead."

A first hat came off, others followed. In a silent ring they stood about the man in the dirt. His face was still smeared with soot, his clothes singed, yet Robert Wilson looked strangely peaceful as he lay in the middle of the road in his hometown, in the flickering shadow of dying flames.

X

He blinked into the dusty dawn and found a pair of blue eyes staring at him in absolute concentration. Jack extended a hand, touching Phryne's cheek.

"Did you sleep?"

She shook her head in the slightest of manners, her eyes all but falling shut at his gentle caress.

"You need to get some rest, Phryne."

"Robert Wilson dropped dead after being recovered from the hotel," his wife mumbled. "You don't actually think I'll let you out of my sight?"

"I am fine," he smiled.

She squinted at him.

"I am _fine_!"

Obediently Phryne allowed her lids to flutter shut. Hay rustled underneath her as she snuggled closer to her husband, wrapping a protective arm around him while he pulled the blanket over both their shoulders.

Late in the night, after the last flames had been defeated, Mrs. Tattler's family and her guests had found shelter on Mrs. Harper's farm. But even her extensive house was bursting at the seams at the amount of currently homeless people and so the two Detectives had made an escape to the horse stable only armed with some sheets and blankets. The peace up here was calming, but now the cool morning crept through every crack, causing them to shiver.

For a while it was quiet and Jack was about to drift off again, when he felt Phryne draw a deep breath which made him realise that she hadn't gone to sleep after all.

"Last night... was a close call."

Jack smiled, tugging a stray lock behind her ear.

"It was."

"I assume I should be glad that I am not losing my mind after all."

He couldn't be bothered to try and believe her thin layer of nonchalance.

"That would be a great loss indeed, Miss Fisher."

She rolled her eyes at him and he wrapped them even tighter together, confirming that they were in fact both here. But sleep didn't come easily.

"You weren't the only one," he murmured.

She struggled free to look into his eyes.

"I was fully anticipating to die," he explained calmly.

"And you didn't have any intention of sharing that with me?"

"None at all."

The sparkle in the grey of his irises caused her to retreat grumpily.

"I'm rather glad you've reconsidered," she grumbled into his chest. For some time it was quiet, while they both mused about this.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" she asked. Jack rolled onto his back, pulling her along with himself to buy time until he had figured out how to describe his brush with the beam and consequently death and more importantly if to share his vision. He finally settled for the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Phryne's eyes widened in surprise as she listened and by the time he had reached the conclusion she had pulled herself onto an elbow.

"And there I believed my imaginary friend was an exclusive appearance."

"I'm afraid Mr. Jalboo doesn't play favors." He smiled before reminding her: "I was under the influence of the same drugs as you." Phryne nodded thoughtfully, trying to recall the last time she had opened a sachet of Mac's headache powder. It wouldn't do to dwell on it. The Inspector seemed satisfied with the rationality of this explanation.

Meanwhile, Jack recalled something else that required him to fish for his trousers and search through their pockets.

"I appear to have clutched onto those while unconscious," he explained with a tilt of his head. Phryne received the sapphires in awe. It had occurred to her sometime during the night that they were lost along with many other beloved items, but then what did it truly matter in the face of what had been rescued? Now, however, she felt tears prick at her eyes.

"Phryne?"

A warm palm framed her face and she looked up into the worried expression of her husband.

"I _did_ attempt to get inside."

He tilted his head in confusion at her statement. As she opened her mouth to continue, his thumb shushed her.

"I've never doubted that for a second," he said, taking the necklace from her fingers and gently draping it around he neck. "And it was impossible, even for you, Miss Fisher."

She returned his smile as he admired his work.

"But you were anticipating my return and a gentleman never lets a Lady wait in vain," he added, with a last touch of the necklace and the tiniest of smiles. Her hand flew up, brushing his fingers as they retreated before lingering on the metal.

"You've let me wait for quite some time," she accused, not indicating which instance she meant. He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips before answering.

"True. Now, however, I fear I will prove very hard to cast off, Miss Fisher."

"Is that a promise, Inspector?" she mumbled, returning to her snugly position on his chest. There was no reply required, Jack decided, as he wrapped himself firmly around her and felt her finally drift into sleep.


	48. Chapter 47: The Morning After

**Good afternoon, my dear readers. Hand on heart, has anyone seriously doubted that Jack would escape the flames? No, no, I didn't think so. ;) I have become predictable. Or... maybe not.  
**

**One of my Miss Fisher friends asked me the other day if I ever consider ending the Phryniverse and while yes, this is always a question that appears on finishing another chapter of this seemingly endless tale, this time I have found to my surprise that I am actually not sure if I want to continue. A lack of ideas is not the issue, neither have I lost my obsession with MFMM, but "Kurrajong" turned out to be the most challenging tale to finish yet (and not only because I woke at times in the middle of the night and checked if my own husband was still breathing...). It's been a rough few months and at times I felt very uninspired and utterly lost with this tale. And I fear it showed. **

**I am not telling you that in the hope of getting sympathy, but as a heads-up that maybe, just maybe I consider it time to let go. That said, I am attached to my little world and I haven't decided yet the one or the other way - and we all know how a similiar contemplation after "Sunflowers" ended. So, I will not get ahead of myself. Lets finish this one and see. **

**Chapter 47: The Morning After**

When the Inspector dragged himself down the ladder two hours later, Phryne was still snoring softly into the hay pile. He crossed the empty stable as quietly as possible, heading out into the late morning. The sun hung already gleaming in the sky. On his way to the well he found himself eyed by a stray chicken which he suspected he'd encountered before. The cold water got rid of most of lingering soot and breathed some life into Jack's tired face. As he straightened, smoothing back his damp hair, he spotted a horse approaching, a dog trailing behind it. Luke O'Neill halted Mary right in front of the other man, appearing unusually anxious.

"Good morning, Inspector."

Jack nodded, squinting in the bright sunlight and buttoning up his grubby shirtsleeves. They would have to do. At least Mr. Butler's work on returning home had been minimized by the fire.

"Mr. O'Neill. What brings you here?"

Luke cleared his throat and dismounted, while Angus was already a step ahead, sniffing the Inspector's feet.

"Just inquiring after Mrs. Wilson following the tragedy with her husband. I believe your friend came to the conclusion that he died of smoke poisoning?"

Jack nodded with his jaw clenched. "Not surprising, all things considered. But since he was in police custody it should be quite a challenge to explain how he died storming a burning building."

"I'm sure he would have found a way to break out when his hotel was standing in flames. Someone might not have locked the cells properly." Luke absent-mindedly patted his dog, who had realised that there was little attention to be had from the other man while the Inspector was still getting dressed. "An easy error to make in the chaos."

Jack smiled thinly at the farmer rationality, while considering if to bind a tie with an obviously scorched edge. He dismissed the idea and pocketed the piece of fabric instead. But even the clothes that hadn't taking damage from the flames reeked of smoke. There would have to be something done about his attire before he returned to the station.

"I've been wondering if he went in there with the intention of not coming back out," Luke pondered aloud. Jack shrugged off any feelings of guilt for having assisted Robert Wilson in his suicide mission.

"Who can tell what's happening in a man's mind? He was set to spend the rest of his life in gaol and his mother-in-law wouldn't have lived to see today if it hadn't been for his bravery."

Without giving it any thought, the Inspector joined Luke in leading a patient Mary towards the pastures.

"It stands to show how he will be remembered. For his heroism or his murder?" the farmer wondered aloud.

"By his wife for the love that provoked both, I assume?"

Something about the subject caused Luke's uneasiness to deepen and he changed the subject while they made their way slowly across the yard.

"I've heard of your little stand-off with Packard yesterday."

"After this display I can say for certain that he isn't a man I would entrust my wife's fate to," Jack stated calmly. Luke ignored his comment on the matter.

"Do you believe he will stay in custody?"

The Inspector shook his head.

"Since he has done very little aside from drawing a weapon _and_ has given himself up, I doubt he will be our guest for long."

He smirked grimly as they turned the house's corner. Orpheus contemplated the two men briefly before continuing to graze while Athena slowly trotted towards them, hoping for a treat.

"So, he should be able to take over this estate fairly soon. As long as your father doesn't change his mind on his own claims, naturally," the Inspector continued, greeting the filly with a pat on the neck.

"I doubt it," his opposite mumbled while he opened the gate to release Mary into her sister's company. In silence the two men watched one horse nibble on the other.

"Of course, Mrs. Harper will get her dower," Jack explained in a cheery tone of voice, leaning against the fence and luckily finding a pack of cigarettes in his pocket. He rather fancied he deserved one after the past day. Then he remembered Phryne and shoved them back into his pocket. He _was_ fine, but then gambling that was probably a rather stupid idea.

Luke didn't seem inclined to answer, he just held onto the timber, watching the horses play. Angus had wandered off with the intention of finding some chicken to scare.

"The house, some land. She will be well provided for. Even though I believe all of the lifestock will go to Packard?"

"Indeed," O'Neill confirmed, deep in thought.

"_All _of the animals?" Jack asked while Orpheus finally joined into the fun.

"All of them," Luke repeated darkly.

Jack smiled as he waited. Luke sighed.

"To be entirely honest, I've been having second thoughts on leaving, Inspector."

"Have you?"

Another sigh.

"I am contemplating to challenge Packard's right to Aidan's station."

Jack glanced at the other man before answering.

"May I ask what provoked that change of mind?"

"You may not," Luke grumbled, fishing a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. "I trust this is part of your evidence?"

After a moment's surprise the Inspector stored Aidan Harper's half finished letter in his coat.

"I assume my wife happened to drop this last night?"

"Somethin' along those lines."

The men watched the horses in quiet companionship until it got too hot to stay outside any longer.

X

Phryne awoke with an aching head and a sore wrist – and a feeling of deepest peace which rendered both unimportant. There had been no ghosts haunting her dreams. The dip in the hay Jack's body had left behind had had plenty of time to cool, but for some reason his absence wasn't scaring her. It was over, she realised with a start as she yawned and pulled herself into a sitting position. Whatever had summoned the ghosts, they had been set free to haunt somebody else. She was certainly not complaining.

While she got dressed in yesterday's clothes, which didn't only smell distinctly of horse and smoke, but had also suffered some damage from various adventures, she remembered that she had better telephone their family at home - preferably before the burning hotel made it into Mr. Butler's newspaper. She whistled underneath her breath as she climbed down the ladder and crossed the yard. It promised to be a hot day, but that couldn't manage to bother her.

Her light heart sunk as soon as she set foot into the farm's kitchen. The three woman surrounding a kitchen table with a steaming tea pot barely seemed to notice her. Only Grace looked up, greeting her with a faint smile. Rosemary's swollen eyes told everybody in unmistakable terms that she had cried much of the night rather than slept. Phryne swallowed down a brief sense of guilt. Mrs. Wilson had suffered the loss that she'd barely avoided herself. And they had also seen their business go up in flames, along with their home, Fefe Tattler's face added darkly. The realisation knocked the wind out of Phryne's happiness.

"May I use your telephone, Mrs. Harper?" she asked after the briefest of greetings, relieved to escape the suffocating sadness filling the kitchen. Surprisingly, Grace appeared rather keen on showing her the way herself.

"Mrs. Wilson has taken it hard?" Phryne asked, as they walked down the gloomy hall.

"I doubt there is a way of suffering one's husband's death with happiness," Grace explained with a tiny smile. "In fact, despite wanting to strangle Aidan much of the time we were married, I seem to be missing him an awful lot."

Phryne nodded while the other woman continued talking.

"But I dare say that the Wilsons were very much in love and then first the news of his involvement.. in Aidan's..." She trailed off.

"It seems very generous of you to offer them a roof over their heads under the circumstances."

Phryne watched the widow's face carefully at her statement. But Grace shrugged after a moment's thought.

"Rosemary had no part in Aidan's death. If I could look Robert in the eye today I do not know, but as it happens, that isn't an option."

The Detective couldn't disagree with that and since they had arrived at the small table holding the telephone she didn't attempt it, instead watching Mrs. Harper retreat back to the kitchen. It was easy to forget that she'd only just lost her own husband a few days ago, Phryne pondered while she had a connection established. Grace Harper was an admirably strong woman.

She got a hold of Dot only, apparently Mr. Butler was running some errands and Jane had offered to accompany him. Her assistant seemed in an awfully good mood and the telephone call turned a lot longer than Phryne had anticipated. She rang off with a smile, just as Jack stepped into the house.

"Good news?" he asked, after Luke had taken off his hat and with a brief greeting disappeared in the kitchen. Phryne grinned.

"It seems Miss Aberville has gotten engaged."

Jack pondered this briefly.

"That could complicate things."

"Oh, I believe Dot is rather grateful for the development."

"And why is that?" the Inspector asked, glancing down the hallway before he settled his hands on her hips and pulled her closer. He never tired of feeling her warm body against his, yet after days of chasing killers and nights stumbling through burning buildings it was all but essential. She smirked.

"It gives her a very good excuse to hand the nursing duties to somebody... more fitting."

Jack raised his eyebrows.

"So, why did you employ Miss Aberville if you didn't think she was a good choice to begin with?"

A cheeky grin answered him.

"You might want to call it a lesson about needs."

Jack grinned at her tilted head and her cheeky expression. Despite the lack of make-up and her dirty, torn clothes he found that he was quickly developing needs of his own and he retreated carefully.

"Are you going to join me at the station?" he asked.

Phryne shook her head.

"I believe there are a few things that require my attention before we leave," she explained. Jack didn't ask. He found it usually helped his nerves to not know what she was up to.

X

When Jane and Mr. B returned from the market, their arms piled high with shopping for the planned dinner with Miss Aberville's future husband, they found Dorothy in the Robinson's kitchen, her attention concentrated on a mixing bowl while a delicious smell escaped from the oven.

"What are you baking?" Jane asked, her finger sweeping the corner of the bowl.

"Dinner rolls," Dot explained, while her friend pulled a face. "But there is also a sponge cake in the oven."

"You are trying to impress Mr. Boyle?" Tobias Butler asked from where he was packing food into the refrigeration machine.

"I doubt I can match his skills," Dot explained with little conviction before quickly changing the subject. "Your mother telephoned, Jane."

"Oh?" the girl asked, looking equally excited and disappointed. "Are they coming home?"

"She is hoping to be back by tomorrow. They appear to still have quite a few things to wrap up in Woodend."

"Did they find the murderer?" Jane asked, stealing another piece of dough, despite its less than pleasant taste.

"Yes, but Mr. Wilson died in a fire last night. Apparently their hotel burned down."

Jane forgot to swallow, sharing a breathless look with Mr. Butler while Dot poured out the dough onto the floured kitchen table.

"Nobody else was hurt, luckily. Including the Inspector who went into the flames to rescue somebody."

Dot looked up from kneading the dough, noticing that she was being stared at. A pin could have been heard dropping.

"I guess we have plenty of reason to celebrate then," Mr. B broke the breathless silence.

"Jane?" Dot asked. A sudden smile answered her.

"They are all right, aren't they? So I agree, we should celebrate."

She bustled away to help with the unpacking, when something else occurred to Dot.

"There were also some flowers brought around," she explained, her dough covered fingers pointing at a bunch of colourful blooms filling a vase.

"For Miss Aberville?" Jane asked.

Dorothy shook her head in amusement.

"No, I believe those are from another admirer."

Jane fished for the card and a moment later her smile broadened.

"They're from Harry. His father had taken him hunting and he misses me terribly."

Mr. B grinned into the pot he was currently filling with water.

"Another mystery solved."

"May they never end," Dot mumbled under her breath, continuing to knead her dough.

X

Luke watched.

Grace talking to her guests, serving tea and coffee and sandwiches. Grace laughing with strangers in her kitchen. Grace looking flushed and happy, despite the shadow which never left her eyes these days.

A little boy by the name of Roland was playing with a teddy bear on the floorboards while his mother explained the complications of sending for a car to pick them up.

"Don't worry yourself, there is plenty of room," Grace smiled graciously, even though Luke could tell she didn't like the Lady much. An elderly couple said goodbye a few minutes later, they were going to head down to the railway station. Grace farewelled them as if they were old friends. Rosemary, who slowly had some colour returning to her cheeks, decided to bring them outside to where the Inspector was waiting to take them to town in Walker's car. Luke found himself fidgeting in his seat when his friend turned towards him and spotted his empty cup.

"More coffee for you?" Grace asked.

He shook his head.

"I had better head out. Plenty of work to do."

She nodded, her lips pressed together in a manner he knew. She was disappointed in him.

"Grace..." he said before he could stop himself, then cleared his throat, waving her to come closer. The mother was listening in but he couldn't bother to care about her curiosity.

"I was going to do some work on the cottage this afternoon. Would you care to come for a ride?"

He tilted his head and she glanced briefly at the guests filling every nook and cranny of her house, the plates which were piling up with the rest of her work to be done on the farm...

"There is a lot I feel I should tell you. It is in fact a very long story," Luke added in quiet pleading.

She didn't say anything but her smile was answer enough.


	49. Chapter 48: The Thing With Feathers

**Chapter 48: The Thing With Feathers**

They stood silently in front of the blackened ruin.

"I am sorry," Jack finally spoke in lack of anything better to say. Mrs. Tattler turned away from what was left of her life's work.

"Would you believe, Inspector, that the more I think about it, the less tragic it seems?" she asked as she took his offered arm. He tilted his head at her curiously. People curiously eyed the strange couple as they wandered along the street. Jack couldn't blame them.

Mrs. Harper had produced a suit that had belonged to her late husband and was quite a bit too long for the Inspector. His eyebrows were a little singed, the bruises scattered over his face by now had turned a nasty shade of yellow. All in all he didn't make for a trustworthy sight. Mrs. Tattler on the other hand was missing both of her eyebrows and her damaged hair had been shortened this morning to a very fashionable bob. The dress she wore, a present from one of her worried friends, made her look about twenty years her junior. Jack was actually rather surprised at her change.

"Don't tell Mia, but I have always somewhat envied my sister," Fefe Tattler continued. "The trial was horrid, of course, but once it was over, she was free. I, on the other hand, was expected to look after my parent's hotel and dutifully obliged. I have never left Woodend for more than a few days in all of my life."

Jack found that he was holding his breath at her confession.

"And Rosemary – she had dreams as a young girl." Her mother smiled. "I recall her reading books on Paris and Brussels and the Mediterranean Sea with palpable excitement. Mind you, we could never afford such travels and she settled for her fate."

"The hotel?" Jack asked without requiring an answer. Fefe nodded. "Maybe I should have sold years ago. But then change is frightening. It doesn't appear I have a choice now."

She seemed awfully happy at her misfortune, the Inspector noticed.

"Were you insured?" he finally dared asking what had been occupying his mind since the previous night. Fefe smiled.

"Luckily my husband, God rest his soul, was very adamant on that matter. So it won't be our ruin."

Her features darkened.

"Of course, Robert is a dire loss. I pray that the Lord may have mercy with his soul."

They walked on in silence.

"A new start might be just what your daughter needs," the Inspector said quietly. Mrs. Tattler flashed him another smile.

"I believe Grace said something similar last night - not that Rosemary believed her. The dear girl has been wonderful in the whole tragedy." A small laugh accompanied her words. "You know, she actually reminds me a little of Evie."

"That may not be a comparison she'd enjoy," Jack pointed out carefully. Fefe grinned.

"Probably not, Inspector. But then nobody is going to tell her."

X

Phryne crossed the yard, her summer dress fluttering in the breeze. It was a somewhat artless piece of clothing, but the light fabric felt awfully comfortable against her skin. Mrs. Harper had turned out to have rather solid taste once she shed her work boots.

The Lady-Detective spotted two women in the shade of a tree. Iris was talking quietly to a sobbing Rosemary and Phryne didn't feel any need to interrupt. There was a morning after every night and sometimes it was necessary for someone to remind you of that simple fact of life. She was glad that today it wasn't her on either side of this conversation.

Instead she turned her attention to the car which was carefully driven onto the yard. Pete O'Neill looked almost embarrassed holding the wheel. Behind the Hispano, Jalboo followed on Marina, leading a second steed.

"My, you _are_ a dark horse, Mr. O'Neill," Phryne grinned as she greeted the farmer.

"It's purring like a kitten," Pete explained, blushing slightly at her implication. "A little trip down to the pharmacy did the trick."

"Thank you," Phryne exclaimed heartfelt. "Both of you!"

"No worries," the man mumbled, climbing from the comfortable leather seats, not without showing a glimpse of regret. He wandered off in search for the kitchen to wet his dry throat with some water, leaving the Detective behind in company of his farm hand.

"He is grateful for your help," Jalboo explained, slipping from Marina's back, "even though one might have to be a clairvoyant to tell."

"Oh, I am improving on my psychic skills," Phryne quipped smiling. The man smirked at this, making her wonder just how much his dream version had in common with the original. He didn't give her any time to think about it.

"They sat up all night. I dare say they have never talked this much in their lives."

"About time," Phryne threw in without bothering to hide her pride.

"I trust they will find a way," Jalboo smiled, "despite being too stubborn for their own good."

"They're not the only ones," Phryne mumbled under her breath while pondering the ridiculousness of expressing any gratitude for his appearance in Jack's vision.

"Your husband has recovered?" her conversation partner asked into her dark thoughts. Her head snapped up.

"He was an awfully long time in there and the falling beam couldn't have been gentle on his head," Jalboo added in way of explanation.

She nodded slowly, realising that it was perfectly normal that he would enquire after the Inspector's health.

"Thank you, he seems fine."

They chattered some time longer about last night's events before both men made their way back to the O'Neill's farm. It didn't occur to Mrs. Robinson until much later that Jack hadn't told anyone but her about the events inside the hotel.

X

"So, you are Aidan's brother?" Grace asked, pulling her legs to her chest. They were sitting on the unfinished floorboards, their backs against the cool wall. Luke hummed.

"Half-brother."

She glanced at his profile.

"You must be awfully angry with Evie?"

Luke shrugged.

"I am. And I am not." He finally looked at her. "She gave me into the hands of people who she knew would care for me."

Grace shook her head slowly at what she had just heard.

"I had never thought your parents capable of such a secret."

Luke cleared his throat.

"I'll confess I knew something was going on." He turned his head to look at Grace. "Father isn't a very convincing liar. And Jalboo was obviously fed up."

"Is that why you you are leaving?"

He chewed on his lip and stayed silent. She waited.

"It plays it's part." Luke fiddled with his hands in a gesture she knew better than she cared to admit. Grace was tempted to shake the truth out of him, but restrained herself.

"You were right. There is a woman." He didn't look at her, stared stubbornly out the window while she held her breath. "I love her, have loved her for a long time..."

He turned, finding a pair of translucent eyes and quickly looked away.

"But I need her to know that I expect nothing. Nothing at all, "he took a deep breath, "even if I stay."

A gust of wind blew through the open door, caused a bunch of nails to roll over the floorboards. Neither of the people said a word. Through the window they witnessed Angus's fruitless attempt to sneak up on a grass parrot.

"I'm sorry..." she finally said, her voice rough with emotion, "...it's too soon to even con-"

"Stop," Luke cut her off before adding a little more softly: "Please. I don't wish to talk about it and I don't need your sympathy."

She was visibly taken aback by his words and he realised that he had been harsher than intended. A habit formed during a long time of protecting himself.

"I am your friend, Grace and I will help you in every way that I can. I feel that is what I owe to both of you and it is _all_ I am offering. My hopes aren't yours to worry about. Time will show if they have any grounds."

He could tell that she was close to tears, but to his utter relief she didn't cry.

"What if they prove to be unfounded?" she asked instead.

"Then I will deal with that," he promised, then smiled thinly. "I could always run away to the city."

She grinned and they stared out of the window in companionable silence for some time. After a minute or two a hand snuck over the floorboards, grasping for Luke's. He didn't struggle.

X

The quiet rustle of paperwork filled the station when Jack finally stepped through the door. The Sergeant made an attempt to rise but was waved off and sank obediently back onto his chair.

"Where are our guests?" Jack asked.

"Downstairs," Ferguson explained.

"All three of them?"

"Since they are friends, it seemed only fair."

Something about his grin told Jack that Geoff hadn't considered his prisoner's comfort in that equation.

"I believe I still have to interview your father?" he asked. The Sergeant shook his head.

"He denies everything, as expected." The disgust in his voice was obvious. "But I have enough witness statements to keep him locked up. He was very forthcoming on details on Mr. Torres's business though. It appears they can enjoy each other's company for a long time to come."

Jack grinned as he hung up his hat.

"You know, Sergeant, you might have a bright future ahead of you yet."

The young man cleared his throat in embarrassed pride.

"Thank you, Sir. Though I fear I lacked care in having my pistol stolen in the middle of the street."

Jack sighed and sat down.

"There are indeed good reasons to not carry a weapon unless you are expecting to need it, Sergeant."

"Duly noted, Sir."

Jack measured him quickly and came to the conclusion that Ferguson wasn't going to dwell on his mistake. Instead he eagerly continued the recount of his interviews.

"Packard knew to tell about Torres's break into the hotel. Apparently he feared that the connection with the railway would point you directly to his fencing. He was silly enough to brag towards his friends about his escape."

Jack resisted the urge to blush.

"Would you like me to write a detailed protocol?" Ferguson enquired with a cheeky grin. "You might want to press charges over the assault?"

The Inspector cleared his throat, picking up a folder from the desk.

"I don't think that will be necessary. In fact I believe a mention in the notes might be enough," he said as casually as possible.

"Very well, Sir."

Jack glanced briefly at the young officer's face as he settled down with some paperwork of his own. The Sergeant indeed was thoroughly underrated.

X

Miss Green sat at the window of her guest room, listened to the wind outside and wondered what she was to do with her life. It was the third time in mere months that she was forced to ask herself that very question. The truth of the matter was that, as it is the case for most, her age wasn't decreasing with time and the number of occupations she could entertain was growing smaller and less exciting. Her feet, which had once been capable of very elegant and quick adjustments, weren't at all equal any more to the stumbling blocks they met so regularly these days.

She assumed she could have offered Mrs. Harper her help on the station. Her hostess would accept, there was no question in her mind on that account, if more out of kindness and friendship than of actual demand. But Miss Green despised being a burden to anyone and it had been hinted that a stay at the farm was both Fefe's and Rosemary's design until they had decided how to go on - as long as Grace was still Mistress of the station at least.

Despite all her aversion to shaking up doonas, Mia was well aware that her sister and niece had been most gracious in taking her in after she had lost her position. While she felt a keen sense of obligation to stay and help them through their grieve, she also thought it too much to weigh down Grace Harper with another unasked for guest. There was grieving to be done on her side as well, even though she appeared to be taking her husband's murder with composure.

Aidan's loss was as fresh and raw still on Miss Green's mind as now was Robert's. She had respected and cared for both young men, despite their shortcomings, openly displayed by the one, disguising all his virtues below his bad temper like flowers under gravel, while hidden in the other underneath a layer of goodness and appearing at the worst hour. It was strange, she thought, that anyone could ever expect a human being to be just either, good or bad.

And she had to admit, if only to herself, that she was selfish enough to want to leave Woodend behind. It wasn't merely the pain she was running from after the recent tragedies, she also dearly missed Melbourne. The tranquillity of her hometown couldn't soothe her any more after the many years she had spent in the city and she hadn't ever formed any serious intent on returning for anything more than a friendly – and short – visit until she had been forced to...

A knock ripped her from her dark thoughts and with a sigh she rose to open in a mixture of duty and curiosity. The person who stood at her threshold wasn't anyone she had expected to see.


	50. Chapter 49: Everything Ends

**Another ending. Another closed chapter. And as always a little sadness. Since this might be the last time I finish a Phryniverse story - no promises - I would like to take the chance to thank all of you for your support, your patience, your love. It's been an amazing journey, not always pretty, but amazing nevertheless and I am eternally grateful for your company on it. I can't count the times your feedback made me laugh, ponder or gape and that was a priceless experience. Thank you, thank you, thank you. And since I am now actually struggling for words, lets just get on with it. Because... **

**Chapter 49: Everything Ends**

She found her in a chicken coop, where she was spreading grains with a flourish gesture to the excitement of the feathery audience.

"Gone under the farm hands then?" Mac asked.

"I am helping out. It seems quite natural, considering we are non-paying guests."

As a slim smile lit Hazel's face, a strand of hair escaped from her do, mixing with her flushed feature into a beautifully tousled picture. Mac's heart ached in her chest, yet she stood, trying say what she needed to.

"I came to ask if you are all right," she finally ventured. "You've disappeared on me earlier."

Hazel shrugged and couldn't be convinced to answer until Mac wrestled the grain bucket from her lover's hands and fixated her with the most penetrating stare.

"I admit I didn't enjoy being assaulted by this madman in the streets. And I certainly don't ever wish to watch anyone hold a gun to your head again!"

Hazel retrieved the bucket, continuing her work in silence. Mac watched her while standing back in order to avoid chicken poop on her perfectly pressed suit. How she had survived her adventure without a crease was anybody's guess.

"There will always be madmen," the Doctor said after several minutes of only excited clucking and scratching filling the air. Again Hazel shrugged.

"I am aware of that."

More silence followed before Mac felt ready to express what she didn't want to - but felt she had to.

"Maybe we should be more careful... and I certainly wouldn't blame you if- "

"Hold it right there!"

With no little amount of determination Hazel moved across the coop, not caring in the slightest about chicken poop on her own shoes. Mac watched her in astonishment, as her hat was taken from her, revealing that the Doctor's hair hadn't quite remained unscathed in last night's adventure after all. She didn't move an inch as Hazel reached out and gently brushed a stubborn red lock back into place.

"Why are you saying silly things like that?" she asked Elizabeth who was fighting for her countenance. She didn't answer, instead looking as stubborn and composed as usual - a pretence that couldn't hold in the eyes of someone who loved her.

"At times it seems just too hard," she finally ground out. Hazel smiled while she thought of a reply.

"I believe someone told me on Jack's wedding day that there was no need to shout my feelings from the rooftops but that hiding this love was out of the question."

"I don't recall using those words," Mac protested.

"You didn't have to."

With a cheeky grin, Hazel lowered the Fedora in her hands onto her slightly dishevelled hair.

"I knew what I'd gotten myself into, and I haven't encountered a moment of regret thus far."

"You might regret it if you don't unhand my hat this minute," Mac breathed, but made no move to retrieve her property.

"Make me," Hazel challenged. The following kiss could have been considered blatant bribery, yet nobody decided to press charges.

X

He was peeling potatoes! John Robinson had rather hoped he would never have to battle with the root vegetable again after his wife's death, possibly the one and only upside of losing his Anna. Grumpily he stared at the massive mountain that had to be processed in order to feed 15 people. He should have said 'no'. But then, how could he? Grace Harper had been nothing but nice to the colourful collection of hotel guests and employees inhibiting her house.

John huffed, wiping some sweat from his brow.

A pair of laughing voices drew closer and his back stiffened at the recognition of who they belonged to.

"I see you've been put to work," Phryne quipped, as she stepped into the kitchen.

"It's quite healthy, you might want to try it, my dear," he returned without looking up from his occupation.

"Thank you, I've only just finished feeding the lambs," she grinned. He wasn't certain if that was the truth, but then one never knew with Phryne. "And now I should better get packing, I rather hope to get on the road before darkness. _If_ your son should feel inclined to return from the station in time."

He didn't get to ask what exactly she was intending to pack since the fire had destroyed all the belongings they had brought but the clothes on their backs. Instead he was left alone with Mia Green, who was currently fishing a knife from the drawer.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, already sitting down and grasping for a potato.

"Can't say I do."

For several minutes they worked in absolute silence while John watched his annoyance grow. The prospect of being trapped in Phryne's car at night time didn't fill him with joy. Despite this, he had decided to accompany the Detectives as Rupert and Iris wouldn't leave until the morning. It didn't help his mood that Mia Green was wearing perfume again. God only knew how she had produced it after all her belongings had gone up in smoke. A potato used the moment of his distraction to slip through his fingers and roll over the table before disappearing underneath it.

"Oh for..." he swallowed down the rest of the curse, remembering that there was a Lady present, even if it was Miss Green. Said lady was otherwise occupied as he noticed a moment later, when her cheek brushed over his thigh during her attempt to retrieve the escaped vegetable.

"Would you mind?!"

She returned from her mission, holding a slightly dirtied potato and a triumphant grin.

"I don't recall you being this shy, Mr. Robinson."

"And there I thought it wasn't worth being remembered," he spat, snapping the offensive root from her palm.

"I've never said _that_," she smiled, picking up her knife again. "And it wouldn't have been the truth. The night was very enjoyable indeed."

John absolutely refused to blush, but his cheeks didn't seem to care.

"I would still prefer if you didn't mention it," he hissed, instead of admitting to the heat that was rising in his stomach at the memories she'd provoked. She turned her head, and damn her, she was smirking in a way that he recalled all too well.

"And why is that, John?" she asked quietly. The way she made his name sound rendered him momentarily speechless.

"I... I don't think it appropriate or doing either of us justice," he finally ground out, returning to his work. To his utter annoyance she didn't answer, instead just continuing to peel her potatoes in a slow, thoughtful manner that he couldn't seem to ignore.

"I don't recall you being worried about propriety either," she added after some time of angry peeling on his side and some thought on hers, looking at him with the most seductive of expressions. John exploded.

"Will you stop teasing me! I am a married man!"

They both stared in amazement at each other at his outburst, before he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head slowly.

"I am still devoted to my wife," he said firmly. "I don't think you understand."

"I understand perfectly," she protested quietly. "Constable Robinson."

John picked up the knife he had angrily dropped. "How long have you known?" he asked.

"The instance I've spotted you at the hotel," she admitted. "In fact I was wondering when I first met your son... His features do show some resemblance, even though he doesn't sport this very attractive uniform you used to."

John shook his head in disbelief.

"I can't even understand that you remember."

She hummed under her breath, stripping another defenceless potato from it's peel.

"You came every day of my trial, without fail. And you smiled when I was released from the charges. Everybody in this courtroom wanted to burn me at the stakes and you smiled."

"I was a police officer and I had followed the trial," John grumbled. "You were innocent, justice had been served. Of course, I was bloody smiling."

"I've no doubt," she said. "Yet you had disappeared when I tried to speak with you."

"I was married," he repeated stubbornly. "It would have hardly been appropriate."

Mia smiled absent-mindedly.

"I had no intention of ravishing you in the middle of a courtroom, it merely would have been nice to talk to a friendly face."

His ears burned at her suggestion as he searched his brain for a lie that could withstand her scrutiny, but after some consideration, he settled for the truth.

"I felt you were dangerous," he ground out, willing her to understand.

"Of course," she grinned, her voice mere inches from his ear. When he looked up, he couldn't help but notice the glimmer in her eyes. "I had just murdered my fiance."

He shook his head, breathlessly staring at her.

"I never believed..."

John didn't get any further, as his lips, quite on their own account, decided to kiss her. The sound of blood beating in his ears drowned out the world and any thought. It was amazing and breathtaking and terribly, terribly wrong. He retreated quickly, gasping some breath into his lungs.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what has gotten into me," he stumbled out, slipping from the bench.

"I have a faint idea," she quipped, but he fled the kitchen before she could stop him. Mia stayed behind. Staring at the pile of potatoes, she sighed deeply.

X

The sun had already decided to set by the time the Inspector finally felt able to return to Harper's Station. He spotted his wife as soon as he drove onto the yard. She was leaning against her car in company of Dr. Mac, sharing a cigarette. Elizabeth greeted him briefly before rubbing out her gasper on the ground.

"I'll leave you two lovebirds to discuss the details," she announced before doing just that.

"What details?" Jack asked, sounding worn after the short night and long day too far away from home.

"In essence if you would like to leave right now or after dinner," Phryne grinned. Jack raised his eyebrows at her.

"I believed us to be staying until the morning?"

She shook her head, unable to suppress her amusement at the hint of hope in his voice.

"While I do enjoy Mrs. Harper's hospitality, I believe we shouldn't overstay our welcome," she explained while he stepped closer. She raised her hand to touch his tired face with some sympathy. "And I seem to recall that my husband longs to go home."

Jack smiled.

"In that case I don't see any reason why we shouldn't leave tonight."

"We will take dinner first," Phryne decided on the realisation that he had likely lived of coffee alone for much of the day. "Your father peeled the potatoes."

"We, of course, couldn't let that go to waste," the Inspector grinned without moving. He was rather aware of John's live-long conflict with the vegetable. "Have you finished all of your business to your satisfaction?"

"Quite," she breathed as he leaned in, pressing her against the car to kiss her. "There is something I would like to discuss with you before we head inside though," she added, when he finally retreated, his face lit up by the soft evening light. "I believe we have another quarter of an hour."

He nodded wordlessly, offering his arm. Wandering along the pastures, where the silhouette's of the horses stood dark against the burning sunset, they shared the details of their day.

"I released all three bodies tonight," Jack explained as they halted at the fence, his hand playing aimlessly with the timber on the grim subject. "But since Evie Harper took her own life it might be quite a struggle to get her laid to rest on the cemetery."

"I believe the O'Neills might have other plans..." Phryne explained with an air of mystery and added after he shot her look: "It appears they are considering to return her bones to her resting place underneath the Kurrajong, along with her son's remains."

Jack nodded. It seemed awfully fitting.

"I never told Wilson that Harper had reconsidered before he shot him."

Phryne sighed.

"It might be best not to think about that too hard. The whole affair is dire enough without pondering it's pointlessness."

They walked on, the dying day dipping everything into a glorious shade of orange.

"It appears Mr. O'Neill has found his fight again," Jack smiled after several minutes of companionable silence. "Through no intervention on your part, I am certain."

"I had little to do with his change of mind," she protested with a simper. "The late Mr. Harper on the other hand was very convincing."

Jack measured his wife briefly with unconcealed pride and fondness, before remembering to check his emotions.

"It remains to hope that _Mrs._ Harper can also be convinced in time."

"Going by her smile this afternoon, I believe they will be just fine."

Prevailed by his arm wrapping around her, Phryne leaned her head against Jack's shoulder as they returned to the house. He sensed his heart fluttering in his chest. It wasn't often that she so obviously rested on him in a public place.

"Lets get through this dinner," he murmured before releasing her, "I ache to go home."

And so they did, taking their leave little later with warm words of gratitude to all of their hosts.

As John seated himself in the back of the Hispano after bidding his farewell to the part of his family who was to stay behind until the morning, he found himself confronted with company he hadn't expected.

"Miss Green?"

She didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed.

"Mr. Robinson."

"Did you get lost?" he asked before he could stop himself. She didn't look lost at all, he noticed though, but rather as if she was ready to take a journey.

"Not quite. Your daughter-in-law has offered me a position this afternoon. I've accepted."

"I believe she needs neither a maid nor a dancing instructor," he grumbled.

"But she does seem to be in want of a nurse," Mia Green smiled. "Or her assistant rather."

"You won't mind sharing the back seat for the trip home, will you, Father?" Jack asked, climbing into the front seat. A scowl was all he received in answer and the Inspector had to bite back a laugh.

They waved their goodbyes as they drove from the yard, the winding road leading them down towards the town of Woodend where the lights glimmered in competition with the stars. To their left the Hanging Rock rose against the black sky.

"I may have never looked forward so much to a warm bed and a bath," Phryne said after a while. "Possibly apart from our adventure in Collingwood."

Jack grinned into the night.

"I can't wait to listen to Jane playing a faint resemblance of 'Waltzing Matilda' on the piano," he added. Phryne shot him a glance before returning her attention to the road.

"You might have to teach her properly for both our sanity's sake."

He didn't answer, just snuggled into his seat and enjoyed the drive through the night while the Rock and in it's shadow a proud Kurrajong tree, disappeared slowly into the distance.

**X**

**Well, can't finish a story without some nonsensical anecdotes, can we? How about a few little details I did _not_ know when starting to write this story: **

**Most of Hanging Rock doesn't overlook the race course. There is, however, one place which fit's the description of Phryne's dreams, and therefore the location of Evie's suicide, perfectly. It's called "Lover's Leap". **

**Considering that I was always going to burn it down, I was attempting to create a fictional hotel. No such luck. The "Victoria Hotel" stands proudly at Woodend's High Street - and does a damn good steak, too. **

**Talking about hotels... once upon a time there was a "Hanging Rock Hotel". It burned down in 1930. **

**During posting this story I struck up a friendship with one of my fellow writers. About three days into our acquaintance she sent me a picture of Hanging Rock - taken from her house. **

**When choosing a place near the Rock it was a toss-up between Newham and Woodend. Finally I took a map and went with logic - inadvertedly ending up writing about Nathan Page's hometown. The realisation made Jack hating Woodend a whole lot more ironic. **


End file.
